The Trick Revealed
by Hughesish
Summary: Sequel to "The Curious Case of John Watson". Read that, then join us back here other wise you are going to be confused.
1. Chapter 1

**The Trick Revealed **

**Chp 1**

**That didn't take long now did it?**

One month. It had been one month, but if you asked the detective it had felt like a year. He spent most of it chasing down false leads and dead ends. Moriarty had started with silence, the first week and a half there was nothing, not a word. His homeless network wasn't talking, they were afraid and they were leaving. Something was definitely wrong and he had no doubt that Moriarty was behind it. He had to find out where the mastermind was; he intended to hunt him down and to get John back. The doctor was still alive, he had to be, Moriarty would have sent him the body, possibly even in pieces. Delete that! No, he didn't want to think about John, think about what was happening to him. John was strong, but…an entire month? It was too horrible for words. If he ever found himself thinking about it he would be stuck between praying he could still save him, or that Moriarty had put him out of his misery. That was when he thought of it though, usually he did his best not to. He had to stay focused on the case, on the facts; he had to concentrate on finding Moriarty. Which was exactly what he was trying to do when Lestrade barged into his flat. The man was intolerable, he insisted on bothering the detective with useless information. His men provided nothing of value and Lestrade himself spent most of his time telling Sherlock to eat than anything else. Idiot, there wasn't time to eat! Was John eating? He would eat when he had his doctor back at home, safe and sound, until then he would work.

"Sherlock? Are you even listening to me?"

Lestrade demanded as he stood irritated in the door way of 221 b. Sherlock didn't even bother to turn his head, instead he simply continued to stare at his board where he'd pinned up all the information he had, which wasn't much.

"No."

He stated blandly. The sooner the detective inspector left the better.

"I know this is hard-"

"Well congratulations inspector you once again have a firm grasp of the obvious! Of course this is hard! This is more than _hard_, it's hell! John is out there, god knows where, having god knows _what_ done to him! And you want me to what? To _eat_? I. Don't. Have. Time. John doesn't have time! So if you're quite done I'd like to get back to work!"

It was quiet for a while, and Sherlock thought for just a second the inspector might have left.

"I'm sorry…I'm not sure what else to do Sherlock. Moriarty just seems to be toying with us, has been from the start. I don't know…it's been a month."

"I'm aware of how much time has passed. It changes nothing."

"Sherlock, be reasonable. We've searched every possible place, chased down every lead, and we're still coming up empty handed."

Sherlock finally turned towards Lestrade and settled his icy hot glare somewhere between the inspector's eyes.

"You want to give up? Hmm? You can live with that decision can you? Fine, then go, do as you please. I don't need you anyway, I'll find him on my own. Just do me a favor and stay out of my way."

Lestrade shuffled uncomfortably but maintained a stern and steady stare.

"This isn't healthy. What you're doing…you're killing yourself. You haven't eaten or slept as far as I know for this entire time. You need rest. What would John say?"

Sherlock went tense and his glare intensified if that was even possible. His upper lip twitched as if he were about to snarl.

"Shut up. You shut up! You don't know a damn thing! John would want me to _find_ him! And I will die a thousand times before I sit on my _ass_ while Moriarty tortures the only man I've ever loved!"

Silence encased the room save for the sounds of the two men's breathing. Sherlock turned abruptly to face his board again, wanting nothing more with the inspector. Lestrade stepped closer though, unsure of himself.

"Sherlock…Jesus, I…do you have any new information? Maybe I could help somehow, I don't know, do something...has Mycroft made any progress?"

Sherlock relaxed slightly but remained still.

"No."

"No?"

"No. I have nothing of any substance. It's all fabrications. Nobody with anything of importance is talking, and if they were, they're dead now. Almost all of my connections have either fled or wound up back with Molly at St. Bart's. We can forget about Mycroft helping either, him and his people are far too busy with this whole bombing business. There's more to this than John, much more. Whatever it is, it's going to be big Lestrade."


	2. Chapter 2

**The Trick Revealed **

**Chp 2**

John had always been a fast learner but he actually surprised himself with how quickly he gained complete control over his projections. Granted, he spent time on little else; the doctor had nothing else to focus his time on. He really did need a focus too, he needed distraction, anytime he found himself with too much time on his hands his mind would wander. He would remember the night he had with Sherlock, he would see the look in the man's eyes as he said he loved him…and then he would watch as his face contorted into a cruel sneer and repeated the words he'd said at the hospital. It was hard enough to have lived through it; he didn't need to play it over in his mind. Therefore all his efforts were devoted to enhancing his abilities.

He could take on many forms and he had full control of all of them. There were some difficulties still, but only a few. Any form that wasn't of a human shape would certainly give him a headache if he held it for more than an hour. There was no need to practice any nonhuman forms though, Moriarty had told him over a week ago who he would spend his time projecting. At first he had denied the request, refused it actually. The consulting criminal insisted though, said John was the only one for the job. Moriarty could be cruel beyond imagining, but he also showed the doctor great kindness. Only one man had ever been so kind to him, but then, he had been lying. There was a chance that Moriarty was lying too, but it felt too good to question it. The consulting criminal was far more willing to show John praise, to voice his affections. With Sherlock it had been always been few and far between, obviously he had trouble spewing them from his mouth, it was apparent to John now how foolish he had been. Maybe it was all just part of the game, maybe Moriarty was just manipulating him, but at that point he really didn't care. This plan was risky, crazy if you asked him, there was a good chance he'd wind up dead. That was what really sold the idea though. If he were to die, be killed on this bloody mission, then he could be spared when the lies came to light this time. That is why he finally agreed, that is why despite how deranged it all sounded and what his conscience was screaming, he decided he would do it. He had to practice; he had to get it just right. Most of the other operatives had months to prepare for their roles; John had a little more than a week.

It was all odd to the doctor, overly complex and more than a little corrupt. They were given specific targets, people who they were to watch and mimic. They had to be able to impersonate them perfectly; they had to know every detail about their target. What they ate, what music they liked, how they spoke, even where they took their morning dump. It was all crucial to be able to maintain the illusion. The people who they were studying held important positions within the British government, and they intended to replace them. Once in character their orders were to discover as much intelligence as they could, report everything back to Moriarty. The mastermind intended to use the information in order to topple the government. At least that's as much as the doctor could determine. If he put more effort forth he could probably bring himself to figure out the detailed scheme, honestly he couldn't find it in himself to care. Besides, he really had no reason to, this plan gave him purpose. This plan gave him something to remind himself he was still capable, this plan gave him someone who cared for him, and most importantly it gave hem something to distract himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Trick Revealed **

**Chp 3**

Practice had run long that day for John, it was almost time for him to capture and replace his target. It would be harder than most so he decided to not only practice is projection another time but also some hand to hand combat. Of course he would bring a gun along just in case, but he didn't think he would need it, or at least he hoped he didn't. The only thing he wanted to do was to lie in bed and sleep for a couple years, when he made it back to his room however he found Jim waiting for him. John let out a tired sigh and entered the room, practically dragging his feet.

"Hiya Johnny!"

Jim greeted cheerfully from his perch on John's bed, his feet swinging underneath him and barely a centimeter above the floor.

"Hey Jim, you need something?"

John crossed the room so he could stand in front of his guest. Jim flashed a quick smile that was a combination of coy and devious. The doctor had grown used to these expressions though; he was hardly affected by what months ago would have sent shivers down his spine.

"Just wanted to know how you were doing…you've got a big job coming up."

"I'm aware."

Jim shifted slightly and studied the soldier carefully, after a minute of assessment he gave an almost warm smile.

"Is everything ok? You seem…edgy."

The consulting criminal then stood up and walked towards John until he was close enough to reach out and touch him.

"Just a bit nervous I guess."

Taking advantage of his new location Jim raised his arm and rested his hand on John's shoulder giving it a light squeeze.

"Don't be. You're going to be absolutely brilliant. I've been watching you practice; you practically had it down the second day! If I didn't know better I'd say you'd been practicing for years. You're going to do great; perfect in fact, that's why I picked you."

He couldn't help but smile at that, it felt good to have someone compliment him. Someone who genuinely appreciated what he was doing and actually meant it. Sherlock had complimented him from time to time, but they were normally half hearted at best and rarely were said without some ulterior motives.

"Well…thanks, Jim."

Jim's smile grew and he leaned in so that John could feel the man's hot breath on his cheek.

"I mean it John, you're irreplaceable, I'd be lost without you."

A familiar phrase rang in the back of his mind. Sherlock had said that he'd 'be lost with out his blogger'. Not true, clearly, he didn't want anything to do with John. Still, there was a sting of nostalgia and loss. He'd give anything to hear those words from the detective; he'd give anything for all of this to just be some twisted joke. He longed to wrap himself in those gangly arms, to hear mumbled deductions in his ear as he drifts off to sleep. He even missed the yelling, the bickering, and the experiments. He missed Mrs. Hudson's cooking and her loving smiles. He missed going out to the pub with Mike and Greg. He missed Molly's school girl innocence. He missed everything, all of it. But that was over, he could never have that back. Sherlock had been lying, he didn't love John, and he would never hold John again. What interest would the rest of them have in him without Sherlock? Mike had been his friend before, true, but he really didn't want to have to explain it all to him. He didn't want the man to ask him to go down to that pub with so many memories, so many nights spent discussing the detective, or being dragged out by the man in question to go chasing after some criminal. It would be too much to have to announce to somebody how stupid he'd been, what's worst is that they probably wouldn't even be surprised.

He looked into Jim's eyes and he could see that there was a darkness there, something very 'not good' about him. There was evidence of that in the thousands as well. There was something else there though, it was sincerity. The consulting criminal really did believe in John, he thought John was useful and worthwhile. That was something the doctor both needed and craved. The way Jim could make him feel like he was someone special, like he was one of a kind. It was pathetic and not nearly good enough of an excuse but it was the truth. There was nothing driving him anymore, nothing to make him want to continue on, but when Jim said those things…it made him almost happy. That was what gave him the ability to get out of bed every morning; to know that if he tried Jim would be there to pat him on the back.

"Thanks Jim, I…I'm glad to help you."

Jim smiled coyly and let out a soft sigh sending his breath ghosting past John's cheek again.

"He really did a number on you didn't he John?"

John didn't answer, he didn't want to admit just how broken Sherlock had left him, he tensed and just gave a small nod. It might have been stupid (actually it was possibly the dumbest thing he'd ever done, but the doctor wouldn't figure that out until later) but he trusted Jim. He trusted that Jim didn't want to use that information against him; he was just stating the facts. Unlike Sherlock Jim found pleasure in deciphering human emotion and understanding what made people tick.

"Sorry, love, didn't mean to stir up bad memories. It's just so…funny."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"No, no! Don't take it the wrong way, I only mean that it's funny how it all worked out is all. Sherlock finds you, gains you loyalty for, what…_kicks_? Then he takes it a step further and captures you heart. The whole time, I'm just dying for someone with your level of commitment and skill, jealous that he'd found you first. Then he throws you away, like some piece of _trash_. Luck would have it that I found out so soon, that I was able to swoop in and finally have you for myself. Honestly, for the world's only consulting detective he is a proper idiot! As if he will ever find someone like you! John Watson, doctor, soldier…_lover_."

Jim brought his free hand up and let his fingers trail down John's jaw. He let his thumb linger on John's chin just below his bottom lip. The doctor sucked in a shaky breath as he could see and feel the desire pulsing within Moriarty. He was growing to really trust the man, even to genuinely like him, but there were still parts of him he found terrifying. He couldn't bring himself to be so close to the man, there was just something…_wrong_ about it. With that Jim surged forward and captured the doctor's lips violently almost. John had to suppress a yelp. He hadn't really expected the man to be so forward, and he really wasn't sure he liked this sensation at all. He'd only kissed one man before, and it wasn't really out of the desire to be with _men_. It was to be with that one man. He didn't feel anything sexual for Moriarty, but he hadn't with Sherlock at first either. Maybe this would be ok. Maybe he could handle the strangeness, the feelings of fear he sometimes got looking into those eyes, maybe he could even deal with the sexual element of it. He would need time to adjust though, certainly, maybe his anxious feelings would pass with time. Jim pulled away and shot a playful look at the doctor.

"Sorry, couldn't resist. You're just so…touchable. Oh! I almost forgot! You've been such a good boy I've decided that you do get to decide what happens to the Holmes boys! I debated it for a while, but I figure you've done more than enough to prove that you are capable of making good decisions. Besides you've earned it, all the hard work and all. Just promise me something sweety."

John swallowed audibly which made Jim smirk.

"Yeah?"

Jim made his way out of the room slowly, speaking over his shoulder.

"Don't fall for their tricks, dear. I'm not sure what you have planned for them, but please remember that they are skilled liars. They will say whatever it takes to win your favor, and they can't have it…"

He turned around as he reached the door to pin the soldier with a piercing glare.

"you're _mine_ now."


	4. Chapter 4

**The Trick Revealed **

**Chp 4**

Furious and confused, that and just a tad bit scared. That was how the eldest of the Holmes brothers felt. He hadn't let it show, not once, he couldn't afford to. He was the fearless leader; he couldn't afford to show weakness. They had dealt with terrorism before, but this was different, it wasn't like anything he'd ever seen before. Some of their most guarded secrets were being leaked at an alarming rate. He had no choice but to assume they had a mole, in fact they had multiple moles. It didn't make any sense, all of his men had passed numerous tests as testaments of their loyalty, he couldn't think of a single one who would double cross. People were becoming panicked, as they should, national secrets were being sold left and right. Their office buildings were being bombed, they were loosing. He took another large sip of whisky from his glass, alcohol wasn't helping. There was nothing that would take the edge off, he was constantly on edge, there was no way to know when they'd be hit next. Nobody had any new information and they were loosing their own with every passing second. Whoever was behind this was effectively toppling the British government in little more than a month, possibly three total to completely collapse the entire system. There was no way to combat it and they were all looking to him for answers.

Just then, he heard a noise. One of the advantages of his study was that he was able to hear a pin drop half way across the house, so it wasn't hard for him to make out the unmistakable sounds of someone's foot steps coming to rest at his doorway. All of his cleaning people had gone home for the night; there was not another soul in the house that belonged there. Judging by the sounds of the steps it was a man of shorter stature, one who walked with the confidence and precision of a soldier. This was likely to be an assassination; it would make sense in light of recent events. Without turning his head he decided to confront his dispatcher.

"Seems odd that a veteran of her majesty's army would be an operative of an organization behind the downfall of the British government it's self."

The assassin stepped into the room but made no further sound.

"Do me one courtesy though, after you do away with me, please be sure you send my love to my brother. Despite his antics I do care for him dearly."

His voice was calm and smooth but his heart was anything but. There was no denying that he was frightened at the prospect of death, but there was no way he intended to let this man know.

"That's almost touching Mycroft."

A familiar voice rasped out. He all but flung himself out of his chair so that he could turn and look at the man.

"John?"

It was John, a more scarred and far more worn down version of John, but John. At least he assumed it was John, he knew Moriarty was mixed in with more of what John had been turned into, it was possible this was a trick. The way the man held himself and the impact of his stare argued that this was the real thing, but he had to be sure. Because if this was the real John, then what was he doing here?

"You got it, didn't expect to see me again did you?"

That sounded rather harsh, obviously the doctor held resentments. It was possible he considered Mycroft responsible for his prolonged imprisonment. In truth he had wished there was more he could have done for John, the man was not only his brother's one love but an irreplaceable friend. He had shuttered at the thought of what was being done to him, but there was nothing he could do. The government was in desperate need of his attentions, and he didn't have a single man to spare in order to look into Moriarty or the doctor's disappearance.

"John…how do I know it's you John? You could be one of Moriarty's men."

John smiled at him grimly.

"It's funny you should say that Mycroft. I am in fact John, and I can tell you that Sherlock has a birth mark on the bottom of his left shoulder blade and that he set the house cat on fire during one of your infamous Christmas dinners."

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably, this was obviously John, but what was the problem? Why was he acting so strange?

"What's funny then?"

"Well I just find it humorous that you assume I'm either John _or_ one of Moriarty's men."

Mycroft wasn't normally a man who found himself coming to the wrong conclusion, but this time he sincerely wished he had.

"What do you mean by that John?"

"Don't act dense, you're better than that. I am working for Moriarty now."

The politician sucked in a deep breath not sure as how to respond (for possibly the first time in his life). He knew John, John was loyal and brave and a perfect friend and soldier, this didn't make any sense. How could John become one of Moriarty's lackeys?

"I don't understand John, why…what did he do to you?"

"What did _he_ do to me?"

The soldier stepped further into the room, clearly becoming agitated.

"What he did was _nothing_ compared to-"

He stepped closer to the politician shaking his head furiously. His eyes were blazing with an intensity Mycroft had never seen before from the smaller man.

"You're brother! No, stop it; I know what you're doing. I'm done with this; I'm done being manipulated by you two. You know damn well what happened."

Mycroft stared at John for a few moments. Manipulate him? Clearly Moriarty had gotten inside his head, which wasn't a surprise. How long had he tortured the poor man? What sort of horrible things had he done to his body and mind? He didn't blame the soldier for breaking; nobody can withstand torture as cruel as he was sure Moriarty had put him through forever. What was important now was to figure out what the consulting criminal wanted with him. Could it be possible that he was the one behind all of the bombings? It made sense. How did John fit into all of this though? Surely there were other operatives who could do the same job. However, maybe this was more for Sherlock's benefit; Moran had said he planned to make Sherlock decide to kill-or-be-killed by him.

"John, I don't know what Moriarty has told you, but I haven't the slightest clue as to what you're talking about. Please, explain it to me."

"The only thing Moriarty has told me is the truth!"

The soldier's voice rumbled through the study and actually made the politician flinch. He considered making a dash for the silent alarm, but that seemed as though it would be a bad move. For one he wasn't sure he'd be able to given John's training, he was also very curious as to what was happening. He'd spent a better part of a month trying to discover who was behind all of this and why, he didn't want to risk John escaping.

"Which was?"

He was trying not to upset the man and used his most soothing voice. It seemed to have little affect, John was truly overcome with a deep seeded rage.

"That I've been a little puppet in this game. Sherlock was just using me, manipulating me, so were you in your own way. The only one who's been honest with me has been Moriarty. He took me in after your brother's visit to the hospital."

Hospital? He hadn't had much communication with Sherlock over the month but he was sure he would have heard of him seeing John in a hospital. Something was definitely wrong here. Moriarty was skillfully confusing the doctor so much so that he was now willingly working for the madman. There was no way that Sherlock could have seen him which only left one possible option. One of Moriarty's men had projected his brother's form. He had tortured John, probably faked the rescue, and had him sent to some secret hospital where a false Sherlock met him only to break him further. Whatever he had said to John it must have been soul crushing, because there was no way the John he knew would have agreed to this.

"John…I'm not sure who exactly you saw…but that wasn't Sherlock. Did you ever consider-"

"That it was a projection? Yeah, I did. In fact I prayed for an _entire week_ that it had been, but he knew things…he knew things only Sherlock would know. He…well he was honest with me for the first time. Bet you two had a good laugh at my expense too, convincing me he loved me just so you could study me, have me shipped off somewhere."

Mycroft stilled, clearly Moriarty had taken advantage of the doctor's damaged psyche. Given his history of abuse it would be easy to convince him that Sherlock had been lying about loving him. Something deep in his gut twisted as he tried to fathom the hurt and loss John had suffered.

"John, I promise you that that is the furthest thing from the truth. I would never do that to you, as for Sherlock, he's spent the month desperately trying to find you."

John clenched his left fist and briefly looked away from the politician to observe his feet.

"Enough. I really don't want to hear it Mycroft. Please don't make me regret my decision."

"What decision is that John?"

John took one step closer meeting the taller man's gaze with a look of determination and triumph.

"Moriarty has faith in me; I've proven myself to be one of his greatest soldiers. I'm no longer some underrated _sidekick_ begging for attention. I'm working under my own conditions, and he's said that I will get to decide what becomes of you and your brother."

Mycroft did his best not to squirm. He wasn't sure how volatile John was, what he intended to do. His stance didn't appear threatening, but certainly dominant.

"What is to become of us John? And if you mind me asking, why?"

John observed the man closely before giving a slight shrug.

"I suppose you deserve some sort of explanation, not that you'd ever give me one, but it seems like the right thing to do."

Mycroft let out a quiet sigh of relief; it seemed he was still operating under some sort of moral compass, even if he was horribly confused at the moment.

"I'm not sure exactly what he has in mind for Sherlock…I'm not sure I really care honestly…"

His body language said otherwise, that was good, he still cared for the detective.

"But as far as your concerned, I could give you a little insight into what's been going on. The bombings…that's just the beginning. Don't worry about that now though, nothing you can do about it anyway. Been wondering why your employees can't keep their mouths shut? Maybe you've been a bit curious as to why none of them can pin down any decent leads? Well, let me fill you in on the big surprise."

John edged closer with a tight smile.

"We're soldiers, all of us projectors, and we've been systematically replacing your agents. Months of observations have made us all experts on playing our parts…I'm sorry to say that the men and women you once employed are now dead…"

Mycroft looked away from the doctor, not sure he could maintain eye contact without showing some emotion. How many of his people had been murdered without him even knowing?

"I truly am sorry Mycroft…if I had it my way nobody would have died, but we have our orders. I made him promise that I wouldn't have to kill any innocent people myself, but that doesn't mean he's not going to…it's just in his nature. It's sick and…_perverse_…but it's honest. Not that you care for it, but it's worth something to me."

There was a pause and the two men stayed silent for a long time before the politician finally asked the question.

"What are you doing here then John? What exactly is in store for me?"

John took one final step closer so that he was within arms length.

"I'm here to replace you."


	5. Chapter 5

**The Trick Revealed **

**Chp 5**

**Sorry Mystrade fans! **

_Buzz buzz. _

Sherlock jumped up from his spot on the couch, he wasn't sure when he had dozed off but he'd been right in the middle of going over the details of John's capture once more. He glanced at the phone which replaced the one that he'd broken over a month ago. It was a text from a blocked number. He gasped loudly as he stared at the phone. Could it be Moriarty? Perhaps he was giving him a hint? Perhaps he was giving him a body…delete that! He opened the message with his breath held and fingers trembling.

_Meet me in Regent's park. _

Sherlock let out his breath. Didn't sound like Moriarty, he'd taunt the detective, try to be clever. There was no puzzle to this, just a simple request. That didn't stop the detective from going though. He wasn't sure who the mystery text was from, but he intended to find out. There was a chance that it could be someone with some information on John, he couldn't risk missing the meeting for that fact alone. He rushed to put his coat on and wrapped his scarf rapidly around his neck. As was the case with each time he left the flat (not that it happened frequently) he raised his hand to the coat rack where John's black jacket still hung so that his fingers could quickly caress the fabric. John had opted for his green jacket the day he was taken leaving his preferred one behind to serve as a memento for the detective. If Sherlock leaned into it he could still smell John. He let his fingers linger for just a moment before dashing out the door.

/.

"Sir?"

Mycroft lifted his gaze from the small computer screen, Anthea stood in the doorway to his office with perfect posture.

"Yes?"  
>His voice was stern and inquiring although he let his eyes drift from hers to the screen once again.<p>

"I'm stepping out for a bit, taking an early lunch if you don't mind…I've some business to attend to."

The politician turned back to the woman and narrowed his eyes briefly before waving her off.

"Do as you please dear, just be sure to get those Canterbury reports on my desk as soon as you can. We do have a country to run you know."

"Of course sir."

Anthea quickly made her way to the elevator without so much as a ruminative glance at Mycroft as he picked up his phone to place a very important call.

/

Sherlock exited his taxi and entered the park with determination. He took in his surroundings and searched for the one who had sent the text. To his surprise, he found Anthea. He let out a loud sigh of annoyance as the woman approached him. Was this his brother's way of checking in on him? It was unlikely Mycroft had time to find anything useful about Moriarty or John's location so his trip to the park was likely a waste of precious time. The two came within less than a yard of each other before Anthea let out a quiet gasp.

"You look horrible…have you even slept since…"

She almost whispered. Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked back the road hoping there would be a taxi around soon so he could make an escape.

"And they say _I'm_ rude. Intolerable to see you as always Anthea, how _are_ things with the government this morning?"

She shuffled awkwardly with a slight blush on her cheeks and something close to hurt in her eyes. Sherlock had never seen her anywhere close to upset before. She was normally almost Holmesian with how little emotion she conveyed.

"Not good…I'm not here about the government though…well…not really."

"What then? You do realize I'm busy."

She gave a nod and simply looked at the detective for a moment.

"I know you have a lot on your plate right now with John…"

The detective flinches slightly at the use of the doctor's name, he doesn't like talking about this with Lestrade and he certainly doesn't like talking about it with his brother's overrated secretary.

"But something is wrong…very wrong. I can't quiet put my finger on it, but the man back at that office is _not_ your brother."

Sherlock paused, what in god's name was she talking about?

"I noticed two days ago when he didn't…"

She blushed slightly and looked away from Sherlock who raised his right brow questioningly.

"Well he didn't bring me anything for our 'anniversary', it's sort of like a private joke, we just sort of bring a little something each year on the day he hired me. I bought him a new watch and he didn't have anything, he apologized and just said he forgot because of this whole bombing business. I know it's been hard on him so I brushed it off at first…but he doesn't look at me the same and-"

"Anthea, could it be that my brother has simply lost interest in you? You are, after all, just an employee. I'd spend more time worrying about the national crisis on hand than your love life."

He said with a shrug and his usual tone of annoyance. Anthea then went from a blushing mess of nerves to an enraged woman taking one of Sherlock's coat lapels in hand and pulling him lower to meet her at eye level.

"This isn't about my feelings! Or even his! I _know_ Mycroft, and that man back there is _not_ him! I'm not sure what's going on or why, but I _guarantee_ you that if I'm right we're going to have a major dilemma on our hands! Mycroft is one of the most powerful men in this country and possibly even in the _world _given his hold on our government, you cannot imagine the destruction someone could cause with his level of access!"

She was becoming frantic and the detective raised his hands to her shoulders in an attempt to restrain and reassure her. She was right; this was bad, very bad. There was only one man with the ability to send a look-a-like with that level of precision though, and that was Moriarty. If he could figure out who was impersonating his brother he could trace it back to Moriarty and him back to John. However there was also the issue that his brother was now missing as well. He didn't get along with the politician well even at the best of times, but he couldn't deny that despite how irritating the man was Sherlock did love him.

"Alright, calm down. I believe you. I'm sure you know my brother better than anyone else. You need to think though, are you sure it was only two days?"

She contemplated it for a moment before nodding with confidence.

"Yes, I'm positive."

"Ok. I need you to go back to the office, act natural. Do you understand? Make no effort to look into this further. In order to affectively place a fake operative in Mycroft's position they would have to have been watching him for a while. It's possible that there are people are watching you as well. Especially at the office. Be careful Anthea."

With that Sherlock turned to leave the park at a brisk pace in order to hail another cab.

"You too!"

Anthea called out, the detective gave her a small wave before hopping into a black cab. Hopefully she didn't get herself killed, or possibly replaced herself…he didn't have any particular attachment to her but the sentiment still stood. It would be upsetting if something were to happen to the one person his brother seemed truly fond of. Besides, despite the more recent emotional burst Anthea was normally a calm and intelligent individual who didn't cause him as much irritation as some. He didn't have time to worry about that, she was smart enough to keep out of trouble; she might even go into hiding for a while. At any rate he needed to focus on the task at hand. The fake Mycroft shouldn't have noticed anything yet; the person who replaced him might be able to imitate his habits but certainly couldn't reproduce his wit. Therefore his brother's house should be vacant; giving the detective full access to what was likely his crime scene. He said a silent prayer that his brother not to be dead, that just wouldn't due. Even someone who claimed to be a high functioning sociopath could only bear so much, first John…now this? The taxi was making good time and he would soon be at his brother's house, with any luck he would find what he was looking for, but as he got closer he couldn't shake the feeling that for the house to be empty it would be far too easy.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Trick Revealed **

**Chp 6**

**HEY! So I will be posting some drawings I've done for this fic (mostly the first installment not really the sequel, sorry maybe later!) later tonight on tumblr. If you want to check it out my tumblr is carpesherlock. It will be on my blog and I have a page entitled "art work" it can also be found on. However there is a SMALL problem…I am an idiot when it comes to computers. So PLEASE if any of you are some sort of computer god help me out here! You can view the photos on the page but you can't like/reblog them from there (not that I'm saying it's in high demand or anything but let a girl dream!) and I was wondering if anyone knows what to do about that? Other wise people would have to search through my archive and god knows that's just too much to ask of a person! I'm begging you here people!**

As the detective expected the house looked quiet but he wasn't all too sure on how true that statement was. It was clear somebody was indoors, however Mycroft did employee numerous housekeepers, all of which would let him inside with no problem. As he made his way around the back he found that he couldn't spot a single sign of forced entry within the past week (any later than that was nearly impossible to tell from this distance, even for him) so who ever did this had been trained well, or had a key. Only ten people in existence held a key and it was their own finger prints and retinal scans that allowed them access. Mycroft had intended for the house to be immensely secure, obviously he would have to work harder on that as it was unlikely any of the key holders committed the crime. Then there was the obvious problem that the cameras should have picked up an intruder, they were all still in tact. Although, the attackers theoretically could have hacked into the camera feed, which would be a likely course of action if Moriarty was calling the shots. As he sat silently in the bushes he did his best to contemplate the best course of action. He wouldn't be able to sit long, there was a 90% chance that his brother had been replaced and that this house was swarming with agents, they were bound to notice him soon. If this were just an ordinary case he would have gone back to the flat and put together a full proof plan. This was no ordinary case though; this was Mycroft and John…_his_ John, who they have been torturing this whole time. It was imperative that he save the two of them as quickly as possible. He decides the best course of action is to simply go around to the front and ring the bell. If his brother was not taken he would be able to tell based off the cleaning staff's answers to his questions. If his brother was taken the same was true, unless of course the house was filled with Moriarty's men, in which case he would be taken captive. They would not kill him; he knew that Jim would want him alive, at least long enough so the madman could torment him in person.

He finally moved and made his way back around the large house. He didn't like the idea of playing into Moriarty's hands, offering himself up like this, but what choice did he have? He couldn't just ignore this lead; he couldn't just leave his brother and John. As he walked up to the front doors it was evident that whatever was going on was no longer up to him, he lost any control he had over Moriarty the moment he took John. He raised his arm anxiously and gave the door bell a quick tap. He couldn't decide whether he was more anxious towards what was most likely to be his capture and eventual torture, or the idea that perhaps despite that he wouldn't be able to escape with his brother and John. Logically speaking it was possible that neither of them were even alive any more-delete that! The door opened pulling the detective out of his thoughts. His eyes widened as he was greeted by the one and only Sebastian Moran.

"Hello Mr. Holmes. I don't think I need to tell you what will happen if you don't get in here without making a fuss do I?"

He gave a cruel grin and Sherlock merely nodded in response as he stepped through the doorway and into the main hall. Instantly the door was slammed shut and a swarm of agents had him pinned to the ground. He didn't struggle, there was no point to it, he simply allowed them to restrain him. Once they had securely fastened the zip ties on his wrists two agents grabbed hold of him and led him up the stairs.

"Clever of him, taking my brother's place. Not clever enough for it to fool me though."

Sebastian gave a scoff from in front of the detective as he led the men pushing him up the stairs and towards Mycroft's study as it appeared.

"Yeah, so clever his assistant had to tell you."

Sherlock stopped moving and was shoved forward by the burly man on his left. He hadn't expected them to have figured that out, especially not so soon. He tried not to appear too panicked as he attempted to determine the likelihood that they had let her live. Even if he wasn't overly fond of the woman the last thing he wanted was for her to have died giving him that information. They stepped into the study and he let out a small sigh of relief, at least Mycroft was still alive. He saw his brother sitting in a chair with his arms held behind him, wrists bound by the same zip ties on Sherlock's. His ankles were bound by zip ties as well, each leg securely fastened to each front leg of the chair. As the detective was placed in a chair to the right of him they restrained him in the same manner. The two men who had led Sherlock up the stairs finished with the zip ties and stepped backwards coming to a halt in front of the door. Sebastian observed the two captives for a moment with a smug grin firmly planted on his face.

"It's about time you two were tied up; too bad they won't let us gag you too."

The two men behind him gave quiet chuckles while Sebastian stepped closer to the Holmes brothers.

"If it were up to me, you two gits _and_ your little gal pal would be dead…"

Mycroft quickly glanced over at the detective with a flash of panic. Sherlock smiled at him weakly in an attempt to offer some sort of reassurance and apology.

"But Jim's letting his new _play thing_ call the shots on you two, how that extends to the blackberry queen I haven't the foggiest."

Sebastian was practically growling he was so overcome by anger, Sherlock flashed a devious smile.

"Got bored with you did he? What a shame."

Sebastian snarled and reeled forward fist first. He punched the detective in the jaw producing a loud thump. He pulled his fist back and once again plowed it into Sherlock's jaw this time with a resounding crack. He backed away from the now badly bruised man still huffing short and angered breaths. Sherlock wriggled his jaw in order to determine whether or not it had been fractured, it hadn't, but it had been close. He could just barely make out Mycroft's tempered breathing over his own panting.

"Don't push your luck. I could always think of an excuse to do away with you! Or at least have a bit a fun…"

Sebastian cracked a monstrous grin and a flash of something truly terrifying gleamed in his eyes. Those same eyes that had stared straight into the detective's and issued the warning that he hadn't taken nearly serious enough. Just as Sebastian opened his mouth to speak again his phone beeped. Quickly Sebastian retrieved the small device from his pocket and observed it grimly.

"Come on blokes, Jim's got a few words for us."

The two larger men headed out the door and Sebastian cast one last stomach twisting smile before shutting the door firmly behind himself. For a minute there was nothing but the sound of the two brothers breathing. Then, Mycroft turned to examine Sherlock's jaw.

"Sherlock, honestly, now is not the time or place to act…well, like you."

The detective sighed heavily.

"I'm aware of our situation here thank you."

"Are you? Because I highly doubt that."

Sherlock shot a disdainful look at his brother but his features softened quickly.

"You're upset."

"Well, I have been taken captive in my own home while some madman destroys the country so-"

"No. I mean because of Anthea. You're fond of her?"

Mycroft's eyes widened with surprise and gaped at his brother for a few moments. He recovered swiftly with a large amount of blinking and throat clearing.

"She is my most valued employee."

He said smoothly avoiding eye contact with the detective.

"Yes, just as John is my most valued assistant."

Sherlock frowned a bit at that, he didn't need to remind himself of how much John meant to him. Mycroft also seemed affected by the comment, which was odd, but he accounted that to nerves.

"Well, I may as well ask you now, how _did_ Anthea get mixed up in all this?"

"Simple. She didn't, she got _me _mixed into it. She's the one who informed me of your…change, apparently your doppelganger missed some sort of…_anniversary_."

Mycroft paled slightly before averting his gaze once again to give a false cough. Sherlock smiled faintly, it was odd to see his brother affected like this, but not all that unpleasant. Despite the momentary happy confirmation of affection, they did have a situation on their hands.

"Have you learned anything?"

Mycroft grumbled quietly before turning back towards his brother.

"They don't mind ruining my upholstery."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the disgruntled tone the politician used.

"I'm sorry; let me rephrase that, anything of _use_?"

"Well, I'm sorry, in case you haven't noticed it's not as if I'm in on their little meetings."

"Don't act stupid; is there anything you could deduce? Possibly anything you overheard?"

Mycroft stared at the detective with an almost hurt expression.

"I know that they've killed some of my best people. I know that I've been focused on the bombings being a clue when in fact they were the distraction…I've wasted so much time…so many resources…so many _good people_…"

He trailed off and Sherlock tried his best to send his support through a series of supportive glances. Mycroft shook it off quickly and looked back into the detective's eyes with determination.

"They're planning on bringing down the government, the whole damn country! If Moriarty gets away with this…we're talking unspeakable devastation. Without the government there will be no law, no police force, no hospitals…it will be chaos. Worst of all is this is just a demonstration. He's advertising the effectiveness of these projectors so he can profit off them in the future, all the while selling the secrets the projection uncover not only ruin the British country but to line his pockets as well! Sherlock…if we don't put an end to this soon it won't matter if we've put a bullet between his eyes the damage will be done."

Sherlock processed the information quickly. He was aware of how dire the predicament was, he might not have been focused on it at first but he was more than aware that something was very wrong. He shifted in his restraints but it offered no relief. He understood what this meant, what horror they were facing. He wanted to care, desperately, but his mind was still dead set on finding John. In an effort not to seem callous he gave his brother a moment to restore himself.

"Mycroft…did you hear anything-"

"About John? Knew you'd get there eventually."

He spit the words out as if they had betrayed him. Sherlock glared daggers at the politician.

"I'm sorry Mycroft; he's _only_ the man I've been hopelessly searching for the past month! We're being held captive by the same people who have been-who've…"

Sherlock didn't finish that, he didn't need to remind himself about how miserably he'd failed John.

"Sherlock…"

His voice sounded softer, apologetic even. Sherlock looked back over at the man and saw enumerable emotions hidden behind those eyes. The same eyes that had offered him support as he was bullied through school, and had seen him through his drug filled Uni years.

"Please understand, I'm not trying to belittle the search or your feelings towards the man. It's only…I've come to obtain some information I was hoping to never have to tell you myself, though I knew the second I learned it would be me…it would have to be me to soften the blow."

Sherlock stilled and stopped breathing. No. This was not happening. No. He did his best to ignore all of the voices sounding off in his mind. John was ok, he _had _to be. There was no other option.

"Sherlock."

"Stop. No, I can't…"

Sherlock bit his bottom lip viciously. He couldn't hear this. Not after everything…not _ever_. He shook his head in defiance, it wasn't true, he wouldn't _let_ it be true.

"It's not what you think."

Sherlock didn't dare look back at the politician but he did stop protesting so that he could hear what the man had to say.

"Please know that I wouldn't tell you this if I wasn't absolutely positive Sherlock. I know it's going to sound unbelievable but…it's the truth."

The detective sucked in a breath and clutched his hands tightly.

"Moriarty did torture him…from what I understand, quite…_extensively_…"

Sherlock shuttered but remained silent.

"It lasted four days."

Sherlock nearly screamed. Four? _Day four_? Bloody fucking day four? The day he burst through into that underground hell hole in Bart's? Had that been…he shivered violently…_was that the place where he had died_? The detective almost broke out into a sob right then.

"Then…he was admitted to a secret medical facility that Moriarty owns."

Sherlock snapped his head towards the politician. Did he hear that correctly?

"While there…from what I've gathered…someone projected a copy of you into his hospital room."

No. What? Why? What use would that be?

"Your double informed John that all of your feelings had been fabrications in order to maintain a partner and, after the explosion, to study him. It told John that you hadn't searched for him, that you'd simply thrown away his things and that I was in search of him so he could be locked away and analyzed."

Sherlock didn't know what to think. Was John free this whole time? Simply unaware that he had been tricked? Had he been safe? No longer in Moriarty's clutches. He almost smiled at the thought. Four days of torture was disgusting and horrifying and would earn Moriarty a slow death, but it was not a month! He almost cried. Then, there was an equally strong feeling of grief. John had been alone all that time. He had thought Sherlock didn't love him? Had it been so easy to convince him? How awful had he felt when the projection uttered those cruel words? Sherlock couldn't imagine hearing John say anything of the sort to him and surviving. He could fix it though. It might take a lot to convince him but it could be done! He could win him back!

"That's not all."

His thoughts came to a halt.

"After he'd been released from the hospital, Moriarty offered him a position…"

His heart beat stopped abruptly. No. Jesus no. What did he do? What did he do to John?

"Sherlock…he accepted."


	7. Chapter 7

**The Trick Revealed **

**Chp 7**

"They're all three in the study then?"

"Yes sir."

"Ok, good work lads. Jim called?"

"Yes sir; said he'd be down to speak with them in a few hours."

"Thanks, that's good to hear, I'll be there shortly...oh, and Higgins?"

"Yes sir?"

"Move Sherlock to my room."

John hung up the cell phone as the car pulled onto the road. Or rather, a projection of Mycroft with John's consciousness, similarly what appeared to be Mycroft's chauffeur driving was in fact a projection of the man. The two of them rode in silence on the way back to the house. It had been a long day and while projecting was getting easier it still caused strain. He'd been projecting for a few days now at periods of nine or ten hours at a time. Right now the only thing he wanted to do was get in bed and sleep, but he had something far more pressing to take care of. He'd be lying if he said he was looking forward to it, he really wasn't. At first he thought this was the only thing he wanted, some sort of answer for what the man did, maybe even a little revenge of some sort. He wasn't that sort of man though, he knew that now, he'd known it from the start really; he'd just been too blinded by hurt. There was a part of him that did still want an explanation, it had been such a sudden outburst after all, but it was only a small part. Mostly he just wanted to sleep, to forget, to just put all of it behind him. It wasn't ideal, or at all what John would have expected, but his new situation offered some reprieve. He was back in an army of sorts, one where he could give and receive orders, one that offered a sort of sanctuary from thought. There much he needed to worry about in terms of himself; all he had to do was focus on the mission. So, while the original plan had been to eventually get some answers from the detective, he found that it was no longer what he wanted. He was tired, and it was over. He still held resentments, sure, there was definitely still pain (that would never go away, he was certain of that), but he could live with it. Asking that man for answers now seemed as if it were going to hurt more than help. Was seeing Sherlock again really going to make things better? There was no guarantee he would even get any truthful responses and even if he did, wouldn't just looking at the tall man remind him of Chinese take-away and nights spent snuggled on the sofa. His heart ached for what he'd lost; everything he'd thought he had.

/

"Let's go you poof."

Sebastian spit at the detective. Sherlock looked at him curiously and then looked back at his brother and Anthea. They looked just as confused as he did (not that anyone other than the detective could tell given the three of them were skilled at masking emotions).

"Why?"

Sebastian walked over and began undoing the zip ties around his ankles.

"Because I bloody said so. Now shut up and move."

The blond man grabbed at Sherlock's now horribly wrinkled shirt and pulled him to his feet. Sherlock sent one last glance at his brother as he was practically dragged out of the study. Mycroft's eyes widened and seemed to cry out with panic. Sherlock tried give a reassuring smile but it was weak and filled with doubt. As the door shut he could have sworn he heard the politician whisper something resembling a 'no'. If Sebastian heard it as well he gave no indication as he tugged the detective down the hall jerking him along violently. Sebastian began muttering under his breath heatedly accentuating his movements.

"Taking orders from that prick. Who the fuck do they take me for! The sooner Jim gets tired of him the better."

Sherlock's breath caught in his throat. Was he talking about John? Was John the one who was having him moved? Where? Why? Did he figure it out? They entered what he knew to be one of Mycroft's less flamboyant guest rooms. It was dimly lit and there was the faint sound of slow but steady breathing. Narrowing his eyes he sought out the owner of the measured breaths. It took less than a second to recognize the small but sturdy figure lying beneath the sheet of the queen sized bed.

"John."

The detective gasped and Sebastian offered no response but shoved Sherlock into an empty chair by the desk. Once again the zip ties were fastened around his ankles tightly.

"Enjoy your visit."

He snarled sarcastically.

"Wait."

Sebastian stopped at the door and turned to observe his captive reluctantly.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Why? Why is he doing this? Why did he trick John?"

The blonde eyed him carefully but took a step closer.

"Why does he do anything? I don't know. At first I thought it was just to fuck with you, but now…well it seems he took a shining to him I guess."

The eyes that were normally so filled with violent hate now seemed to be taken over by something resembling hurt. Yes, that was fitting. He'd seen it at Mycroft's facility the night that he'd carved into John's arm.

"He likes John better than you, doesn't he?"

Sebastian's eyes were heated with a hate so intense it almost burned holes in the detective's skull.

"What do you know! He's just some prick he's got a stupid crush on! He'll get over it! John doesn't have the bullocks that I have! It will get to be too much; he won't be able to handle his moods! Johns weak! You should have heard him in that basement, crying out like a little bitch by the end of day two…little sod gets treated like a fucking _princess_ now!"

Sherlock flinched; he didn't like the think of that. Jim…with John. No. Just…no. The tall man shook the thoughts away and focused a stealy stare at the blond.

"Jim once told me that he was changeable…"

Sebastian looked disgruntled but tilted his head to the side to indicate he was listening.

"You obviously like him…if you want him to get over John and back with you…all you need to do is change his mind."

/

As the car pulled into the sprawling driveway John let out a low sigh of nervous tension. Was he ready for this? Jesus, probably not. His palms were sweaty and his heart was racing. Could he even muster the courage to walk into that room let alone talk to the man? He had never been one to run away from his problems, but right now he was seriously considering it. He exited the car with a nod towards the man driving and proceeded to walk into the large house. With each step he felt and added weight to his back, he was struggling to walk towards the room. He hesitated outside of his bedroom door now, or at least the room he'd adopted to store his immobile body as he prances around pretending to be Mycroft. A task, he might add, that wasn't necessarily all that pleasant. However he would take that over this any day. He shut his eyes tight and braced himself as he entered the room. There was a light brush of air across his face as he stepped in and caught the detective's piercing stare which settled on the soldier currently disguised as the politician. He gave a tight smile as he made his way over to the bed. There was only the sound of his footsteps as neither of the men breathed and Sherlock had become frozen in place. He looked over at the restrained man for a moment before melding back into his own body. It seemed only proper to address the man in his true form. He felt the tingling sensation overtake his body until his two minds were one again. He sat up in the soft bed and locked eyes with the detective who took in a sharp breath but remained silent.

"What were you talking about?"

John asked as calmly as possible. Sherlock shifted in his seat but merely stared on without replying. The soldier slid out of bed and treaded lightly across the floor till he was a little less than a yard away.

"I heard you talking to Sebastian, but I couldn't make out what you were saying without risking my projection…what were you talking about?"

Sherlock's eyes went a bit wobbly and averted his gaze to the floor.

"You…mostly."

It was barely a whisper and John almost didn't hear it. He gave a tight smile and crossed his arms.

"Oh? Have a good laugh then? I know he doesn't think too fondly of me. He's got a thing for Jim a think."

His voice was bitter and he gave a humorless chuckle at the end of his sentence which seemed to make Sherlock uncomfortable.

"He does…do…"

The detective's voice broke off and he bit his lip almost viciously.

"Why are you doing this John? This isn't _you."_

His voice was cracking and filled with an amount of emotion that was uncommon for the man. John shook his head and laughed with the same empty bitterness as before.

"This isn't me. That's cute…"

His smile quickly turned into an angry glare.

"As if you _care_. You have _no_ idea what I've been through, what you _did_ to me…!"

John held himself back fighting off a number of urges. He wanted to punch that tall beautiful man square in the jaw, but just as desperately he longed to kiss it. He hated himself for thinking it but the desire was there. There wasn't one day that went by that he hadn't thought about the man and prayed that that fateful day at the hospital had been nothing more than another one of his nightmares. So he just did his best to stay in place, because at this point he really couldn't determine how he'd react.

"John I…you have to know that wasn't me, I would never!"

Sherlock's eyes looked pleading; he gave a light tug at his restraints as if he were moving to stand up before he realized he'd been tied down. John tried to mask his face, prayed that he didn't look as weak as he felt.

"Don't lie to me…please. I just want a reason, ok? I get why you didn't want me after the explosion. You think I'm a freak now; your brother wants to run tests on me, fine. Why before though? Why trick me into thinking we were friends in the first place? You don't need an assistant; you've said it yourself more than a thousand times. So why? If you had just been my annoying flat share that would have been just fine! But no, you had to toy with me; you had to get me messed up into this big sodding game of yours!"

John was practically shaking with rage now, he couldn't help it. He'd spent a month bottling everything up and he was ready to burst.

"John…I…it was never pretend, we were friends, I did…I still love you, that day at-"

John shook his head viciously and pulled his arms even tighter across his chest, if for nothing else just to keep himself from punching the man.

"Stop it! How can you sit there and do this to me! How can you look me in the eyes and lie to me like that?"

He turned away from the detective to hide his now far too revealing face, his emotions were pouring out of him and he didn't like it.

"Please, Sherlock, just this one favor, for all of things I've done for you…for everything you've put me through…just tell me the honest to god truth. If you're worried about what will happen to you or your brother, don't. I'm angry, sure, I'm bloody well_ pissed_…but I could never kill you. The two of you could be pricks, but…well even Mycroft had his moments…and you, well…_I loved you_. It may have all been a lie that I was just stupid enough to fall for…but, well it's dumb, but even if it was a lie that person still feels real to me. I could never kill you, because for brief time, well…you were _him_."

He was glad he'd turned away, even if it was evident in his voice, he couldn't stand to let the detective see him cry. He could hear Sherlock moving against the restraints from behind him and he did his best to regulate his breathing.

"John, please _listen_ to me, I _am_ him! That day at the hospital, it wasn't me! It was a-"

John turned abruptly and met the tall man's eyes with a burning intensity.

"Shut up, just _shut up_! You know what the most twisted part of this whole fucked up situation is? I trust Jim more than I trust you! He strapped me down and _tortured _me for four days, and he's the one I trust! You know why? Because he doesn't lie Sherlock. He doesn't pretend what he's doing is for this reason or that, he just _does_ it. You might not like it, but it's out there for the world to see. It's just who he is. He tortured me to test me, and guess what? I passed, with _flying colors_. Not bad for an idiot."

There was a moment of deafening silence as John caught his breath before walking closer to the detective.

"You want to know the truth? The man _terrifies_ me. He down right gives me the_ creeps_. But I know what to expect, I know how he feels. He doesn't try to hide his emotions and play little games with me…you know, there was a time when the thought of sleeping with another man made me _sick_. Then you came along…now look at me. I'm…well I'm bloody _fucked_. I've got a madman breathing down my neck and I'm actually inclined to let him _bugger_ me just so I don't feel so damn alone."

The words cut through the air and seem to stick Sherlock right in the gut. John let out a harsh breath as his heart beat frantically in his chest. It was surprising how good it felt to let that all out. It hurt to admit everything, but it was freeing in a way to be able to own up to it. It'd be more satisfying if Sherlock would drop the bloody act and just have some decency.

"John, don't you see, Moriarty_ is_ the one tricking you…please don't…don't let him _touch_ you."

John just shook his head once more and headed towards the door.

"You bloody wanker. Still your property am I? Sod off. I'll have Sebastian move you back to the study, we're obviously done here."

With that he slammed the door shut behind himself and went in search of Sebastian. His hands shook violently but he wasn't sure if it had more to do with his anger or the hole that was growing in his stomach.


	8. Chapter 8

**The Trick Revealed **

**Chp 8**

He'd never admit it, but he was glad to see his brother again. The last thing he wanted was to sit in that room where he'd had to listen to John say those horrible things. How had he not broken down into sobs? He didn't know, because that had been more than he could bear. John thought that it had been a lie, everything, every shared smile, every laugh; every night spent in each others arms, every kiss…_everything_. It was unimaginable, how could he…he couldn't fake that. He hated being around people, the thought of touching them was sickening, there was only John. Only John could hold his interest for so long, only John could make him smile and laugh with earnest, only John could make his skin hum, and it would always only be John. It was so obvious to Sherlock and yet the doctor was just so blind, how couldn't he tell? No one else would ever come close. How could John think any differently? Moriarty had probably planned it all along, planned to make him feel weak and vulnerable and then swoop in for the kill, steal John away from him. God, he just wanted to vomit. Moriarty wanted John? _His_ John? It had always appeared to him that Moriarty was more interested with him, because of their matching intellects, but he wanted John? He'd said he wanted to burn the heart out of Sherlock, he'd threatened John's life, strapped bombs on him, he _tortured_ him…did he even realize what he was doing? That was no way to treat John, Sherlock would never hurt John…or at least he wouldn't mean to. John had said a lot of things, not all of them had to do with that day at the hospital. Would John want Sherlock after all of this (assuming they survived) even if he knew the truth?

He looked over at Mycroft and Anthea who both looked equally curious about Sherlock's venture out of the study. He gave a tight smile in hopes that their worries would be quelled until Sebastian left the room. It appeared the blond was planning on saying something to the three of them. He could have been angry about what Sherlock said earlier; maybe he wanted to take some sort of retribution out on the detective. He straightens his back out so he could attempt to be more at eye level. Sebastian certainly looked agitated, would he hit him? Would it even hurt? Considering how numb he felt…probably not.

"Enjoy your little chat? I could here him yelling from downstairs."

He was smiling but his voice had a note of sarcasm. Sherlock looked over at the politician and his assistant; their eyes were swimming with a sea of emotion, mostly sympathy. Great, so everyone knew.

"You should be more upset over it than me."

He spoke slowly hoping that he wouldn't sound as broken as he felt. It seemed to work; Sebastian looked significantly more confused than usual.

"Why's that?"

"Well, me, I always knew John would leave eventually. I'm obsessed, antisocial, emotionally distant…he stayed longer than most would, I'll give him that. You though, you had a shot with Jim. Now…well, I know who I'd choose."

Sebastian clenched his fists and stared bloody murder at the detective.

"Sod you, what do you know!"

"I know that he wants John, not you-"

The blond approached with threatening body language.

"But! John doesn't want him. That coupled with my reminder of Jim's changeable nature…well, perhaps there's something you can do."

Sebastian looked at him considering for a moment. He was deep in contemplation, or rather, as close to contemplation a man of his ignorance could get. It was a long shot, but there was a chance that despite how dense the man was he could do something to stop this. Maybe he could convince John of Sherlock's innocence and Moriarty's true intentions. John might not want to take Sherlock back still, but at least there was a chance he could escape from Moriarty.

"Hello!"

Four heads whipped towards the door where Jim and John had just entered the study. Sherlock sucked in a breath and he could hear Anthea and Mycroft shift uncomfortably in their chairs. John looked reluctant and very uncomfortable which made the detective's heart sink. Jim in contrast looked as if he were about to break out into song.

"Isn't this grand? All of us finally coming together? Though, as good as it is to see you all, I can't say I'm not just a tad bit disappointed."

He stepped further into the room while John stayed firmly planted by the door.

"I mean, you had a whole month to figure all this out, I thought you boys were supposed to be the best! Oh well, all over now, can't go back…now that you do know everything though, you have to admit, it is quite clever."

He flashed a devilish smile at the detective which made a shiver run down his spine.

"Clever isn't a word I'd use for it."

Mycroft snarled. Sherlock turned to observe his brother, as did Anthea; it was rare for the politician to show such emotion. Obviously the loss of his men and country were weighing down on him heavily.

"No? How about perfect?"

Moriarty edged closer as if he were about to pounce, his voice was jovial but his stare was predatory and it caused the three captives to squirm internally.

"I've got everything I could have hoped for. I'm going to be the wealthiest and most powerful man in the world. I'll be able to do as a please, have whatever I want…"

His eyes locked with Sherlock's before he let his gaze drift slowly towards John and then back again.

"_Whoever_ I want."

Sherlock wanted to scream, his whole body erupted with goose bumps and a burning desire to reach out and strangle the man. Nobody but himself should ever be permitted to talk about John like that, least of all Moriarty.

"Any who! John…why don't you come over here."

John looked at the consulting criminal skeptically but then walked towards him, coming to a stop just at the right of the man. He was standing right in front of Sherlock and if he could just get out of those damn zip ties he could reach out and pull him away from the madman! John held his gaze somewhere above Sherlock's head quite purposefully; he definitely wasn't planning on making eye contact.

"I want you all to realize just what a gem this man truly is-"

Sebastian scoffed from behind Moriarty shaking his head disbelievingly. Moriarty turned and glared at the man intensely causing him to still and fall silent. Jim gave a quick motioning of his head towards the door and Sebastian took the hint, he left the study quickly but not before exchanging a brief look with the detective.

"This man is an astounding human being. Now, I know the three of you never cared much for the doctor, but considering all he's done for you I'd say he deserves some respect."

He placed a hand on John's shoulder and Sherlock observed the small shutter it produced. There was a roaring in his ears that he couldn't get rid of. Jim was touching John; Jim was _touching_ John, _his_ John.

"Not only did he serve you dutifully for more than his fair share of time, even after everything you've put him through, he saves you, one last time…"

John shifts slightly as if he's become more comfortable with Moriarty's hold on him and it does not go unnoticed. Jim looks at Sherlock and flashes a devious smile.

"I was going to kill you all, after I had some fun of course, maybe I'd give you a sample of what John went through for you before I finally just let you bleed out. Only, I'd made a deal. He is exceptional and has surpassed my expectations…he's my _prized_ possession."

The madman moved closer to the doctor earning a nervous look from the man, but his anxiety seemed to dissipate quickly. Sherlock was clenching his jaw furiously; it was all he could do to keep from screaming. John was most certainly_ not_ Jim's.

"He wants you three kept alive. Why he would want such a thing is beyond me, but…well he's certainly earned it, and I'm sure he'll do his best to make it worth my while."

He moved impossibly closer to John so that the last part was spoken directly into the man's ear. Sherlock was practically vibrating with rage, this needed to stop! He wanted to cry out, demand that he let go of John. But there was nothing he could do; it would only make John angrier.

"Well, John, I just thought it was important for you to hear that. Now if you excuse us, I'm going to speak to them about the terms of their release. Can't possibly have them running around in London."

John gave a quick nod in agreement before turning to leave the study.

"Oh! And John?"

John turned once again to observe Moriarty just as the man moved forward to plant his lips firmly against the doctor's. It was possessive, aggressive, and far too involved. John squirmed against it but Moriarty's hands were placed at the nape of his neck and his lower back, effectively pinning him against the consulting criminal. After a while he stopped fighting against the tongue that was being plunged into his mouth and just accepted it. There are no words to describe the volume of rage and loathing that coursed through the detective's veins. He couldn't tear his eyes away and he couldn't do anything to stop it. Jim was _not_ allowed to do that, he was _not_ allowed to touch him! Mycroft and Anthea seemed to be growing uncomfortable with the situation as well as the kiss dragged on. Sherlock could feel his temperature rise as the fury overtook him and forced him into overdrive. He wouldn't be able to take much more without howling with rage. Finally Jim pulled away licking his lips mockingly. The detective wanted to reach forward and tear the smug look off of his face, rip the skin from his bones. John looked at him for a moment, lips red and wet, and there was something in his eyes that made the detective gasp. He was sad, he was angry, and he looked subdued. Like he was just giving up. He was a soldier, one who'd been fighting his whole life, but with just a few false words he had been broken. Sherlock had never been more aware of his hold over the doctor until now. He had the power to take such a strong man and bring him to his knees. It was true that John wasn't the most psychologically sound, but he had been surviving just fine before, he had been treated poorly before. Sherlock was the one though; he was the one who led to the ultimate destruction of John Watson. John turned and left the room in a hurry shutting the door behind him. The detective just stared at the door, trying to will the doctor back into the room with nothing more than his mind. He needed to make this right, he couldn't let this happen.

"Wow, now that was almost worth the wait!"

Moriarty gleamed, pulling Sherlock out of his thoughts.

"He'll figure this out, he's not stupid."

Anthea spit out. Moriarty simply smiled and moved towards the three.

"No, perhaps he's not. But he's damaged enough to continue blindly accepting it. I mean, he still thinks I'm going to let the three of you out of here alive."

They all three stiffened quickly.

"Don't tell me you thought I was going to let you live. I mean, John is cute, but he's not _that_ cute. I couldn't risk you guys interfering with my plans now; I'm far too close to victory. Plus to be honest…he's still got a thing for you Sherly, I mean god! I don't know if he even knows it but you _own _him!"

His face went sour and he lunged at the detective, taking hold of his throat and griping tightly.

"And that won't do. I don't know what it is about him but I find him fascinating, maybe that's why you like him so much, that he's so ordinary and yet so complex at the same time. At first I just thought of him as your little pet but…well after a while he sort of grows on you. So it won't due for him to be secretly longing for you, no, he's going to be mine, _all mine_. You're going to be put on a plane that will be rigged to crash out in the middle of the Pacific. I'll tell John it was an accident and then be there to comfort him through the loss…"

He leaned in close to Sherlock's reddening face so that his lips brushed against the detective's ear.

"I'll _lick_ away all his wounds. All of the damage you caused. Once he's firmly in my grasp I'll really start to have some_ fun_. You'd be surprised with what people will tolerate for love, even the occasional flogging…although I prefer to whip him with a riding crop, oh! Were you wondering where yours went? I thought it was only fitting to use yours. You'll be happy to know its appearance was greatly improved by the stains of John's _blood_."

He let go of Sherlock and stepped back as he straightened his suit. If the detective had ever felt anything other than deep loathing and hate, he couldn't remember, because right then it consumed him body and soul.

"You fucking bastard!"

He finally lashed out thrashing against his restraints. Mycroft and Anthea looked at him with shocked horror, but he didn't care, he just wanted to make the man bleed. Moriarty merely laughed in response and headed towards the door. Sherlock gnashed his teeth and practically snarled after the man. There was no holding back now, he'd erupted with fury. Moriarty turned to look at him just as he reached for the door handle.

"You know Sherlock, I was panning on _consummating_ John and I's relationship a little later on down the line, but given how affected you are by all this…well, it just seems like it would be the perfect fond farewell…"

Sherlock froze in place as a large sadistic smile spread across the consulting criminal's face.

"Don't be alarmed if you hear any screaming Sherly, I tend to be a bit…_rough_."

With that he let out a dark chuckle and exited the room. Sherlock answered him with a string of swears that would make a sailor cringe. That's all there was for a good half hour, Sherlock screaming obscenities at Moriarty as Mycroft and Anthea looked on. They didn't bother to try and comfort the detective, there was nothing that could be done. Sherlock finally stopped screaming and just began to sink into a deep despairing rage. There was _nothing_ he could do to stop it, and there was no way he could depend on Sebastian doing anything at all. Moriarty planned to touch his John, to hurt him. It was too much. He didn't even care about the dying. Certainly he was upset that Mycroft and Anthea were going to go with him, but he knew that it didn't matter for him. Whether he was on that plane or not didn't matter, because tonight is what would kill him. Loosing John to that monster, hearing him cry out in_ pain_…in _lust_. No, he wouldn't survive it, he just_ couldn't_.

**Dun dun dun! Oh no! For those of you who have been sending reviews (thanks by the way!) with glares and such will be happy with the next chapter I think, not giving anymore information than that though! Should be up soon, it's the weekend and I'm a loser :p**

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	9. Chapter 9

**The Trick Revealed **

**Chp 9**

**Sorry it took so long to get this up! Had some family things going on and a bit of a crisis with a friend. I know this one is short too, but I will do my best to get another one up today. **

John rushed out of the study slamming the door behind himself. He wiped his hand across his mouth, his fingers scrubbed viciously at the surrounding area. Moriarty had _kissed_ him! God, that wasn't it though, he knew the truth. The kiss wasn't the problem, he'd been kissed by the man before; it was the audience. Sherlock was there, the look on his face was gut wrenching. Why did he bother to keep up the charade? Was he really that keen to making John feel as miserable as possible? The things he said back in the room, the way he looked at him ever since he'd arrived…it was too much. He wanted to believe it was _his_ Sherlock, the one who'd loved him, the one he loved, but he knew that person didn't exist. He made his way down the hall making his best effort not to stumble; his mind was just so fried. He didn't know what to think anymore. All the facts pointed towards Sherlock being the cold and manipulative prick Moriarty claimed he was, yet it seemed every molecule screamed for Sherlock, was _dying_ for Sherlock. He just wanted so desperately to be loved, he'd wanted it for so long, and Sherlock had loved him and more. It had been so fleeting and been taken away to cruelly…it had torn a hole in him he couldn't repair. He was trying to fill it with Moriarty's praises, but he knew in his heart that the man was a psychopath. He wanted to be strong enough not to need it, to not need affection, but he was human. He'd craved it for so long and now that he'd finally had a taste of it, he was being consumed by the need for more. He'd never have enough though; nothing would come close to what Sherlock had given him.

As he approached his room he spotted a small note hidden just beneath the door frame. Someone must have been attempting to slide it into the room in a hurry. He welcomed it as a means to distract himself from the war waging on in his mind and in his heart. He came closer and opened to door so he could bend over and retrieve the slip of paper. At first glance it was absolute gibberish; he furrowed his brow and tried to concentrate.

_10/15_

_11:45_

_St. Hugh's hospital_

_Calvin Neilson_

_#17304-69_

He racked his brain for the meaning behind the words. Then, something clicked. St. Hugh's…that was the hospital he'd been admitted to, he had been in some part of it that was underground. Moriarty told him that he'd been taken there by Mycroft's people so they could take samples before they made arrangements for collecting him. With that in mind he figured the top two lines had to indicate a date and a time. Odd…the bottom line held a more confusing number. He stared at it for quite some time. Then, he got an idea. He'd been wandering about the other night, trying to familiarize himself with the house, mostly just to have something to do since he couldn't sleep, and he'd come across a large sitting room of Mycroft's that had multiple boxes with similar number on them. He wasn't sure what all this was about, or who this Calvin man was, but it couldn't hurt to check out the boxes. He left his room shoving the note deep in his pocket.

It didn't take him long to make his way down to the lavish room. There were a few dozen of the boxes and if not for John's need to occupy his mind he'd have just given up right there. He worked his way around the room searching for the box with the corresponding numbers, then he saw it, 17200-69 through 17500-69. When he finally found it the thing was under two other large boxes that caused the doctor to grunt as he moved them. They each produced loud thuds was he chucked them to the ground. It took a bit of effort to get the top to come off but when it did there was a satisfying pop and John quickly moved to examine the contents. There were cases, hundreds of them, each with a number. After about fifteen minutes of sorting through the containers he found the one with his number on it. He quickly opened it and was surprised to find it contained three DVD's. One of which was titled St. Hugh's hospital. The other two were labeled Calvin Neilson and recruitment. Interesting. He took the case and made his way in the room adjacent where he knew there to be a television and a DVD player. Hurriedly he inserted the disk; he wasn't sure how long he had or if he was really even supposed to view the videos. He'd already had one scare that day, Moriarty wasn't supposed to have come until after a couple hours, and he really wasn't the kind of man you wanted sneaking up on you. He glanced around the room a few times just to make sure it was clear then pressed play. From what he could see it was a bland hospital room with a figure sleeping restlessly in the bed. It didn't take long for him to determine that said figure was in fact himself. A strange feeling rose up from his gut, but logically he knew it only made sense that Moriarty had gotten a hold of the security tapes, he'd want to know everything that had occurred to him during the week they were apart. He observed that the date and time were located at the bottom right corner of the screen; the date was right, but not the time. Pressing down on the fast-forward button he soon came to the exact time indicated on his note, 11:45. The him he saw on the video began to move until he stilled suddenly. Then he watched as Sherlock came in and declined John's offer to join him on the bed. John slammed down on the mute button; he couldn't hear this again. Who left him this note? What was the point in making him watch this? The Sherlock on the tape finally left and the him in bed soon started to shake, yes, he remembered this part. He took the disk out and contemplated crushing it, this piece of evidence that anyone could watch and know just how weak he was. Instead he simply put it back into the case, but he didn't leave just yet. This Calvin guy's name was on the note too. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he'd already come this far, it was worth checking out. As the video came onto the screen he instantly recognized the warm up room. The multiple comfortable chairs for people to leave their bodies in as they projected; the large television screens for people to observe their targets as they prepared for their roles, it was clear where he was. The date at the bottom of the screen indicated that this took place a few weeks before John arrived. Which wasn't that odd at all, most of the men had been practicing long before he arrived on the scene. Calvin, it appeared, was entering his meditative state at the moment. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but it wasn't what he saw. Calvin's projection began to materialize and it was most undoubtedly, Sherlock Holmes.

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	10. Chapter 10

**The Trick Revealed **

**Chp 10**

His mind was racing, his heart beat frantically in his chest, and his hands were definitely trembling with frightening tenacity. This was horrible, and wonderful, and shocking, and crazy all at the same time. That _was_ his Sherlock upstairs, it had all been true. His heart could have exploded the revelation filled him with so much joy. There was a flip side though, he'd just been unbelievably cruel to the man he loves. Sherlock had spent over a month thinking that John was being tortured only to find him completely fine and working for their arch rival, to say that he no longer loved him, then…oh god, he'd made Sherlock watch him _kiss_ the monster. The utter sodding bastard! He was using John to hurt Sherlock. He'd lied to John's face, had tried to make John love him. Just for this game? Or…god, could he actually have some desire to be with John? Thoughts flew through his mind at an alarming pace as he tried to process everything. Moriarty had torn him open, shredded him apart (literally and figuratively) and was trying to put him back together again in order to gain his favor. He hadn't counted on John finding out, obviously, but now that he had this sadistic plan was going to come to an end. Moriarty might have thought he'd created some passive sniveling play thing but he was wrong. John had been submissive before, but that wasn't because of Moriarty, no, John had dealt with physical torment before. It certainly wasn't a walk in the park, but John knew how to handle it, he'd been trained to. It was Sherlock who had broken him, well, actually it was Calvin Nielson. Now that he knew the detective did care for him, everything was different. Moriarty didn't know it yet, but he had affectively created the one thing on earth with the means and determination to kill him.

* * *

><p>Hours had passed and Sherlock had remained silent during all of them. Defeat had settled in, his position was clear now. There would be no getting John back. He fought back tears as it was all becoming so real. The three of them were going to die, and John was going to live out the rest of his life with...that monster. He shuttered slightly at the thought but quickly regained his composure.<p>

"Sherlock, don't worry, we'll find a way out of this."

He could hear Anthea trying to reassure him. Sherlock turned to look at the woman at the other side of Mycroft; she seemed to be trying her best to look earnest. He knew better though. Even Mycroft had a look of knowing disbelief. She looked between the two brothers and rested her gaze at the floor.

"Please don't tell me you two have already given up, because I can't be the only one trying to think of a way out of this, ok? I'm not just going to sit here and wait to die, and don't you two dare do it yourselves."

She sounded fierce and brought her eyes back up to observe the two men. Mycroft seemed to be moved to some affect, but Sherlock remained doubtful. Didn't she get it? John was gone, there was no point. They were trapped and Moriarty wanted them dead, but John wasn't there, he wasn't there to make him feel like a genius or to remind him that he did care, that he should care about trying to save his brother and his assistant. John was gone though so he just sat there and stared at her with dead eyes.

"Don't worry dear; we'll think of something I'm sure."

Mycroft spoke with a tenderness the detective had never heard from the man before. Sherlock looked away from them, they were making him sick. How was it fair that they should be together when John and him were going to be torn apart for eternity. At least they would die together; they would die knowing that they were with the one they loved. Sherlock just had emptiness. Anthea sounded as though she were going to speak again when they heard the sound of approaching foot steps. They silenced themselves instantly, but the foot steps moved passed. There was an opening and closing of a door, Sherlock's stomach dropped. He couldn't be sure, no; there was no way to be certain. The politician and his assistant began shifting uncomfortably in their chairs though as Sherlock ceased movement completely. He didn't dare. He was terrified; he needed to hear something, anything, so he could verify that he was wrong. He needed to know that those foot steps did not belong to Jim or John; that they were not currently in John's room just down the hall. He couldn't hear anything for a long time and he relaxed just slightly. Then, he heard it. There was the shuddering of the door within its frame and then the distinct sound of a moan. There were three simultaneous quick intakes of breath, and one shattering heart. Sherlock glued his eyes shut and tried to block the images that assaulted his mind. Jim pressing against John as he used to, kneading into his skin, kissing him gently…he wanted to wretch. This wasn't right, John didn't belong to him! The detective tried to focus on keeping his breath even rather than the intensifying rhythmic push against John's door. He could feel tears building behind his eyes when the entrance to the study burst open. Sherlock opened his eyes to see a red faced Sebastian Moran enter the room with murder in his eyes.

"You said it would help, it only made things worse! I tried to get that wanker to figure out what Moriarty is up to, but it didn't work! He's in there right now with _my _Jim!"

The detective looked at the man sympathetically. He may find Moran to be a blathering idiot, and a right foul piece of shit, but he certainly understood where the man was coming from.

"I thought…well I guess there's nothing to be done. Obviously you don't know how to fix it, and there's nothing I can do…it's a lost cause."

Sherlock fought to keep his voice from breaking, wasn't very successful. Sebastian moved further into the room and ran a shaky hand through his hair.

"I should just run and there and shoot the prick!"

He barked out at no one in particular.

"Don't you dare."

Sherlock snarled. There was a deafening silence that stretched on for minutes as the two men glared at each other, then, the unmistakable sound of a body crashing into a mattress.

* * *

><p>John had his plan in action, with any luck it would all go off without a hitch. No one had noticed his absence, not even Moriarty. No, he was far more preoccupied with finding out who'd been messing with the cameras. There was a missing gap of time in the hall way upstairs during the time his mystery note was delivered and (during John's visit there) the west wing sitting area. Obviously one of the people in the house was leading John down the path without intending to be caught, not that strange. Moriarty looked as though he was about to beat the men to death (which was actually quite possible) when John placed a hand on his shoulder and the man spun around with a vicious glare. His eyes softened just a bit when they focused on John's fake smile.<p>

"Johnny, what are you doing here sweety? Daddy's just a bit _busy _right now."

Jim said motioning towards the group of cowering men. John nodded knowingly but tried to look hurt.

"Right, of course. I just thought…well I've done a bit of thinking and…"

He leaned in closer so that his lips brushed across the consulting criminal's ear.

"Well, you said something about making all this _worth your while_."

He mentioned suggestively before placing a slow kiss just underneath his ear making the man hum with delight. John pulled away and flashed a smile that he hoped came across as seductive rather than nervous. Moriarty seemed to think so as he lunged forward to smother the doctor's mouth with bruising kisses. After what seemed far too long they stopped and without a word the consulting criminal led him up the stairs and into his room, leaving the group of men utterly speechless. John turned to shut the door and once he did he was pinned against it, Jim pulled the doctor's wrists above his head and held them in place with one hand while the other was placed possessively at his hip. There were sloppy kisses being places along his neck and John couldn't help but give a strangled whimper as the consulting criminal began to grind into his arse. Fortunately Jim only took it as an invitation and simply became more vigorous in his actions. John knew that this was the only way it could be done, but that didn't stop him from wishing he could just run out of the room. He focused on the task at hand, saving Sherlock. Jim's hold on his hip loosened and he moved his hand down to John's belt buckle.

"Wait."

John breathed. Jim let out a growl of disapproval but flipped the doctor around and slammed his back against the door so they were eye to eye.

"I thought this is what you _wanted."_

Jim hissed and rutted against John shamelessly. The soldier struggled to find his voice with all of the contact, but eventually he managed to clear his throat and speak.

"I do! I do, Jim. There's just something I wanted you to tell me first."

"What's that dear?"

He asked almost kindly and started licking up and down John's neck as the doctor spoke.

"I-um-what are those boxes down stairs, what's in them?"

The consulting criminal eyed him curiously for a moment before responding.

"Videos, tapings of all of the soldiers training and a few key missions, and their interviews. Yours is in there as well, I had them moved here so I could watch them in my spare time…why do you ask?"

Jim moved his hands to cup John's arse and pull him forward connecting their hips, the brunette moaned loudly, far more dramatically than was necessary.

"I watched one…Calvin Nielson's."

Jim brought his hands to John's waist and dug into him with his nails. He gave John such a look of rage that it sent shivers down the smaller man's spine.

"Is it true Jim…did you do that…for _me_?"

John asked trying to sound just as pathetic as Jim saw him. The consulting criminal's mouth twisted into a manic smile and nodded his head.

"Yes John, just for you. I did it all for you. I've wanted you for so long, I couldn't let Sherlock keep you…you understand don't you?"

He seemed almost concerned and his grip tightened painfully on the doctor's waist.

"Of course Jim, even if Sherlock hadn't come into the hospital that day I'm sure it would have happened sooner or later. He never took an interest in me like _you_ have."

Jim leaned in quickly and started to kiss the doctor feverishly. John did his best to reciprocate but had to fight against an intense urge to vomit. Moriarty's tongue was rough and possessive, the doctor found that he was certainly not used to such violent force in this area. Suddenly Jim fisted the collar of John's shirt and threw him to the bed with a loud thump, the bed squealed in protest as the consulting criminal jumped in after him. _Finally_. John scooted his way up the bed and allowed the brunette to climb on top of him, he instantly started biting and kissing the smaller man's neck. John let out a small gasp when one in particular bite broke skin; he could feel a slow trickle of blood and knew that it was time to make his move. Moriarty was obviously distracted and would think little of the soldier lifting his arms to take hold of the bed rails, especially if he let out a particularly convincing moan. His hands traveled upwards until he grabbed hold of his Gurkha knife, with the swift precision of a trained military man he removes the duct tape he'd used to keep it in place. In one quick motion he brought the knife and plunged it into the back of the consulting criminal's throat. John savored the surprised look on the madman's face as he pulled him off of himself. There was blood everywhere, mostly on John, but there wasn't time to care. He had a small window of time to get in and out with minimal trouble. He pushed himself off the bed and made his way towards the study, it was time he got back his detective.


	11. Chapter 11

**The Trick Revealed **

**Chp 11**

**Sorry this took so long! Next chapter should be up later tonight. Oh, and please excuse any grammatical mistakes, I'll have to edit it later as well.**

Sherlock thought the sound of the two of them hoping into bed was unsettling, when it stopped so soon and so abruptly, something inside him snapped. Everyone in the study was unimaginably still. The detective and the blond shared a look before returning their stares towards the door. They were both trying to mask their growing concern with the situation. After a minute or two of quieted breathing there was the sound of the bed room door being opened and closed. One set of foot steps. Everyone in the study stiffened considerably, but nobody moved, in fact nobody even seemed to breathe. The door knob began to turn slowly and Sherlock could feel his chest tighten in anticipation. Finally the door opened and there was an audible gasp from the group. James Moriarty came gliding in, his neck and suit jacket were covered in blood. Sherlock felt his stomach drop to the floor, there was far too much blood. Moriarty was smiling, it wasn't like his usual smile, he looked different, but Sherlock was too enamored by how much blood there was to figure out why. He looked for cuts on the man, anything to indicate that the belonged to him, and not to John. _His _John, missing all that blood. It wasn't true, it couldn't be. His mind was spinning out of control, trying to tie together all of the variables, trying to think of all of the possibilities that included a still living John. There was just _so much blood. _He wanted to look away, but he couldn't, he was frozen.

"Jim?"

Sebastian greeted cautiously, stepping closer to the bloodied man. Moriarty gave a smile in response; the blond furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Are you ok? D-do you need me to go grab you a new suit?"

Moriarty took a few steps closer and placed a hand on Sebastian's shoulder.

"No, why don't you just run down stairs and try to figure out what happened to that surveillance video."

Sebastian shrugged off the consulting criminal's hand almost violently.

"Yo-you're not Jim! Jim would demand a new suit, he hates having his suit dirty, Jim wouldn't smile like that…WHO THE FUCK ARE Y-!"

The fake Jim quickly brought his hands up tightly gripping one at the crown of the blonde's head and the other beneath his chin to firmly grasp his jaw. With an equally rapid motion Sebastian's neck snapped with a sickening cracking noise. The taller man slid to the ground producing a thump. The three captives looked wide eyed in horror at the imposter. Finally he broke the silence.

"Sorry about that…couldn't have him causing a scene…besides; he was sort of a dick anyway."

He gave an apologetic smile that looked out of place on that face.

"Who are you?"

Anthea asked boldly.

"You're obviously not Moriarty, even that moron saw that. So you're one of the projectors. Did you come in here and kill him? Did you-did you hurt John?"

She continued with a quiet ferocity. Sherlock flinched at the last part. He didn't want to think of that. He just wanted to go back, back before any of this happened, back to when he had John. The projector shuffled on his feet for a moment looking about the room guiltily.

"Look, no. I didn't…I didn't come in here even looking like Jim. This is just going to be easier for us to get about ok? Obviously I need to brush up on acting like a deranged psychopath, but with any luck no one else will notice my lack of knowledge in that area. I want to be in and out, ok? I can take on one man but not forty, so let's just focus on getting out for now."

Sherlock stiffened as the man approached and he glared intensely at him.

"Not until you tell us what happened to John. You killed Moriarty, fine, but what did you do with John? Because they both went into that room, and I'm assuming that's where you killed him. Is that his blood?"

He gave a silent prayer. With any luck it was all Moriarty's, it was completely plausible. Maybe he only knocked John unconscious, he could go get him, take him with them.

"I didn't do anything to John…I _am_ John."

Sherlock stared in disbelief, could that be true? He wanted it to be, he wanted John to be here to swoop him away, for them to be together. After everything they'd been through though, it just seemed too good to be true.

"And we're just supposed to take your word on that?"  
>Mycroft questioned skeptically.<p>

"For now…yes. It takes a lot of effort to change forms with out breaking from meditation, I'm weak and we need to get out of here. I'm still stronger than the average man, but not by much. There are a few dozen projectors down there that could conjure something up to take us out, especially when they see what I've done to their boss. Now let me get you out and we can go, I'll take you to my body and prove my identity."

He reached for something inside his jacket when Anthea butted in again.

"And what if you're just going to take us somewhere else to kill us?"

"Well, then I guess you're dead either way, couldn't hurt to take a chance could it?"

He pulled out a Gurkha knife from his suit jacket and Sherlock gasped. That was John's, that was John's knife he'd gotten while in the army. He knew that was John knife because he had seen it on occasion and there just something so…_John_ about it, that made it stick out from all others. The way he'd taken care of it, it was a bit scratched up from the ware and tear of years of use. It was wiped clean judging by the pattern of blood on the bottom of the projector's shirt, so it was the weapon he'd used to kill Moriarty. For a moment his heart began to swell with hope, maybe it was John. The logical part of is mind told him it was entirely possible for him to have taken the knife from John. Although, it had been back at the flat…but that fit, if this were John he would have had to have left anyway so he'd have a place to leave his body. Was he lying back at Baker street right now? The thought filled Sherlock with another surge of hope. The projection moved forward and began quickly cutting off all of the zip ties off their ankles and wrists with John's knife.

"Stay close."

The projection waved for the three of them to follow behind him as he made his way out of the study. He looked about the hall way cautiously before moving farther down towards one of the other bedrooms. Sherlock was still skeptically hopeful about this projector, but the way he took control…it was awfully like John. Then of course there was how he seemed to gravitate around Sherlock, almost hovering over him as if being just a few centimeters closer would prevent any harm to come to him. The look in his eyes screamed determination, loyalty, bravery…it screamed _John._ It may have been stupid but as the projection led them into that room, in that very moment, he let himself believe that it was his John.

"Come on, quickly."

John opened the west facing window, above the bushes and surrounding houses the detective could see the sky fading from deep blue to black. Certainly John had planned on the advantages of having the cover of night. John climbed out of the window perched on something and motioned for them to follow. Sherlock scurried over to the exit when John dropped out of sight; he was already half way down the building and making his way down the other half just as quickly. It truly was a sight to see just how fast the projections could move. The detective climbed out next, followed by Anthea and then Mycroft. The three of them weren't as quick but did their best to move with haste. It was a bit difficult to maneuver as they made their way down which complicated things. A ladder would have been too obvious, instead John had inserted peg like objects into the brick which were easily disguised by the thick ivy that covered the left side of the house. It was ideal for keeping it hidden from the other members of Moriarty's organization, but made climbing down significantly harder.

"Careful."

Came John's harsh whisper as Anthea lost her footing momentarily. He was searching the yard for any indication that they were being watched. Fortunately for the moment everything seemed to be going well. Finally the three of them made it the bottom and John rushed them through some bushes until they came to the sidewalk two houses down.

"Listen closely, I've got a cab waiting two blocks down that way, I need you to get to it as quickly as possible. Just tell the man your names, he's already been paid to take you to Greg's house. Once there just ring three times consecutively after thirty seconds you need to ring another five times, ok? Mrs. Hudson will be waiting for you. Don't stop anywhere; don't talk to anybody, just get there ok? Greg has some agents watching the house so it should be safe if anything goes wrong."

Sherlock started to panic, before John could turn to run back he grabbed hold of is sleeve.

"Where-you're not coming with us? And what do you mean by 'if anything goes wrong'?"

Even while wearing Moriarty's face he could see John's loving eyes staring back at him. Something in them seemed hurt and apologetic; Sherlock just wanted him to stop looking at him like that and just go with them. He didn't like this plan already, especially if it meant parting with who he was now certain was John.

"Don't worry Sherlock; I'll come back for you ok? I just have to make this right. I was a knowing participant in a terrorist take over. I wouldn't be surprised if they locked me up after this, but I'll be damned if I don't do my part to fix this first. Some of Moriarty's top agents and most valuable assets are in that house. If we plan to take down the whole organization it is imperative that we gather all of the intell in that house, do you understand? I have to do this."

His face was stern and his voice serious without a hint of there being any room for argument, but his eyes still held the same amount of pain as before.

"How are you going to do that; who is helping you? John, I-I can't loose you again. Please don't do this to me."

His words were broken and there was definite reason to question the state of his lungs as he felt as if he were about to hyperventilate. He'd just gotten John back; he couldn't go back to living without him.

"Lestrade and some of his men will be along in a little bit, but this is something better handled by a projection. I'm stronger and faster, it will be easier for me to stealthily take out agents. We can't risk the police force coming in and the lock down procedure taking place. All of the other facilities will be warned, all crucial or incriminating data destroyed in the blink of an eye."

"There are projectors in there too, they'll out number you!"

"They won't have the time or the mentality to relax themselves enough in order to project. I don't have time to argue with you, I need to get back before they suspect anything is up. My disguise will give me the element of surprise but only if they don't find his body before I get to them. Now you need to get to that cab!"

John gave him a light shove in the indicated direction. He looked miserable and hurt, but there was nothing the detective could do, he was running off faster than he could ever hope to go and Mycroft was pulling him along towards the cab. He stumbled beside his brother for the entire two blocks with a blank expression and an equally blank mind. There was just too much to process and too many emotions attached to what was going on. If there was ever a time that he needed one of those ridiculous orange blankets now was it. Mycroft pushed Sherlock into the cab after Anthea as he gave the driver their names. There were about five minutes of silence as Sherlock gathered his wits before he came to a startling realization about the things John had said to them.

"You won't let John get arrested."

It wasn't a question, the detective wouldn't allow for John to be sent away after all of this. No matter what he'd done Sherlock was going to see to it that he and John were together again. If that meant fleeing the country, so be it. John would protest, his higher sense of morality would make it difficult to convince him to leave, but there were ways to subdue him. He could have him sedated, and then take a plane to somewhere not even his brother could find them. Mycroft seemed to sense his thought process and shook his head despairingly.

"I highly doubt I could manage such a feat given your feelings towards the man. Besides, he is almost single handedly rescuing us and taking down Moriarty's organization. If there are any problems I will merely bring his mental state into question given his four days of torture and the emotional manipulation he probably suffered during his stay. Don't worry brother dear, your doctor will remain with you."

Sherlock smiled smugly, yes, he would have things his way. It wasn't long before they were approaching Lestrade's house (which was considerably smaller than Mycroft's) and Sherlock began to loose his brief sense of calm. John was doing an impossible task it seemed. Then of course there was the fact that he didn't have any solid evidence that it was in fact John. He felt sure, but he was a creature of habit and one of those habits was ensuring that all his conclusions were based on evidence, not on how his heart felt. The three made their way up towards the door and Anthea rang the door bell accordingly. Sherlock waited impatiently for Mrs. Hudson to open the door and began flexing his fingers anxiously. He needed to see John, John's face, his hair, his eyes, his lips, his John. Not John's projection, _John_. With a growing unease he forced himself to remain composed, and prayed that he was not wrong about this.


	12. Chapter 12

**The Trick Revealed **

**Chp 12**

John ran back to the house as fast as he could, he couldn't stay there a moment longer. The look on Sherlock's face had been enough to bring him to tears. He didn't want to leave, and that was the problem, because he had to. There was no excuse for the things he had done, he knew that. If he'd thought he was justified before, then he was the world's greatest idiot, because what he had done, what he'd helped do to his country…there were no words. Worse, what he'd done to _Sherlock_. The man who'd given him purpose, the man who'd shown him unwavering love and loyalty. He'd been out there this whole time searching for him, thinking the worst. The least John could have done was go to double check. If he had just left that hospital to visit the flat, to be 100% certain then none of this would have happened. For now the detective seemed relieved to see him, but he knew better. Logic would set in soon, he would see what John had done, and he'd see what sort of man he really was. A weak, pathetic excuse for a human who was so desperate to be loved that he'd turned to a psychopath for it. Greg seemed to agree, although he hadn't said it in so many words. Needless to say the man was pissed to see that the man he'd assumed was being tortured all this time had in fact been working for a terrorist plot. He'd yelled, told John about how hard Sherlock had taken it, how everyone had suffered. John didn't even offer up an explanation, he knew what he'd done; Greg knew what he'd done. He'd let his own insecurities get the better of him; let him make such a stupid decision. Luckily he did believe him about everything that had happened, including the kidnappings, he promised to help. He'd gone with John to fetch Mrs. Hudson and John's knife; they wanted to have eyes on Mrs. Hudson in case anything went wrong, it was best to keep her with the rest of them once the rescue took place. He got John the supplies he needed and trusted him to do as promised; that was more than he could have asked for.

As he made his way back into the house he made a mental note to never let a day pass that he didn't thank that man. With out him that rescue may never have taken place. From the looks of the house things were still calm, that was good. The men probably assumed Jim and him were still _occupied_, and that Sebastian was with the captives. With any luck no one had gone to check in on them. He made his way further into the house until he came upon the bottom floor full bathroom, without wasting any time he hurried inside. Underneath the sink there was a small duffle bag with his browning L9A1 and a Billy club Greg had gotten a hold of. It wasn't much, but he'd done with less in Afghanistan on occasion, and he'd had much less reason to live then. He needed to live through this though, he owed it to Sherlock. He owed him a proper apology, the right to scream his guts out, the right to some closure. John may have fucked up his life, but he wouldn't do that to Sherlock, he'd give him what he deserved, and then he would take his punishment like a man. He concealed his weapons quickly and made his way back into the hall. It was going to be a long night.

/

Sherlock nearly crawled out of his skin once Mrs. Hudson finally opened the door. She insisted on hugging him and blubbering about the time he'd been gone, about John, about anything and everything. Really, she had the worst timing. If that wasn't bad enough Donovan was one of the eight agents that were at hand, and she made sure to throw insults at him despite his recent abduction. None of it mattered; he needed to get to John. But there he was, stuck between sob filled hugs and snarky remarks.

"Honestly, were you even taken? I heard he did it because you went all psychopath on him and broke his heart, he thinks it's a projector thingy now; I think it's just another mind game of yours. You just needed him to save you arse."

Sherlock broke free from Mrs. Hudson vice grip and brought himself to his full height so he could tower over Donovan.

"Would you kindly shut. Your. Mouth. Because if you don't I will not _hesitate_ to shut it for you."

Mrs. Hudson gasped out an 'oh dear' while Donovan simply stared back venomously in response.

"Now, somebody tell me where John is."

"I'll take you to him dearie, no need to make a fuss."

Mrs. Hudson led him through the house and up a set of stairs. Sherlock could feel his hands becoming sweaty and his heart rate increasing. He needed to get to that room, he needed to get to John, he needed Mrs. Hudson to _hurry up_. Finally they reach a bedroom at the end of the hall and Mrs. Hudson looks up at him lovingly.

"He asked for us to be quiet around him…but I'm sure you know more about all of this than I ever will. Just…I don't want to see anyone get hurt, ok love?"

Sherlock nodded in acknowledgment and gave the older woman a brief hug. He watched as she shuffled down the hallway. After taking a deep breath the detective entered the room. There he was, lying perfectly still in what appeared to be Lestrade's son's bed. For a moment he could do nothing but stare, he had seen John before, but this was different. Moriarty was dead now and they were so close to being together again. Slowly he made his way over to the smaller man careful to make little noise. Sitting himself on the bed carefully, he began to lightly brush his fingers across John's chest and then brought his hand up to cup the doctor's cheek.

"John…"

He started to whisper but his voice broke half way through. He needed John to know that he was there for him, he might not be able to fight with the soldier, but he could at least give his support. He knew John couldn't break his concentration, there was no telling what could happen if John's body began signaling for the projection and it didn't make it in time to merge together again. He had helped John originally though and he knew that there was a certain amount he could take without it becoming a problem. So he did his best to continue on.

"Listen, John, I'm here ok? You're going to get out of there alive; you're going to do whatever you have to because I refuse to loose you ok? You are not going to die after everything we've gone through. You're. _Not. Allowed_."

He brought his other hand up to comb through John's hair. There was no way to tell if the smaller man could hear him, he just had to hope he was getting through. He continued to whisper to the doctor regardless, just praying that somehow it would make a difference.


	13. Chapter 13

**The Trick Revealed **

**Chp 13**

**Getting closer to the end people, few chapters left.**

Sherlock gripped John's hand tightly as a string of expletives and prayers streamed from his lips. Everything had been going fine (well, that's not entirely true because John was unconscious and unable to respond to Sherlock's many apologies, but it was better than this) until the doctor started to form red marks and cuts. He was fighting, _probably for his life_, a hushed voice in the back of the detective's mind said. There was nothing he could do but watch, watch as all the abuse was mapped out across his motionless body. No doubt going in as a projection had reduced the amount of damage he'd receive, but that was only a small relief. When it finally stopped a whole hour later, Sherlock only let out a sigh of relief when he found a strong pulse still beating in John's neck. He reached for his cell phone only to realize that had been taken when he was being held captive, he wanted to call Lestrade, demand him to bring John back. Was he questioning him now? It was possible the inspector was stupid enough to blame John, that would do no good, Sherlock was certain the soldier probably blamed himself enough already. The detective didn't blame him, he wasn't angry in the least, but he couldn't help but feel hurt. He was hurt that John was so easily convinced that Sherlock was incapable of love, or that he had gone into Jim's room after he'd known the truth. There was no mistaking what that thumping against the door was, and it haunted the detective. It was something that brought bile to the back of his throat, he wondered if John didn't think it was important or if he thought Sherlock simply wouldn't care. He was a soldier, and despite recent events he did love Sherlock, it was more than possible he was just concentrated on the task at hand and simply saw it as what needed to be done. That didn't make it hurt less though, but it was something they could talk about later, first he just wanted the soldier to make it home in one piece.

Then he heard it, the front door opened. Before it could even be shut there was Mrs. Hudson's jabbering and some sort of remark from Donovan, then there was a reprimand from Lestrade. He didn't care for any of that; it was those foot steps that soon began to climb the stairs that he cared for. His grip on John's hand tightened even more so as he tried to calm his nerves. The door slowly opened to reveal John's projection which still gave the appearance of James Moriarty. He sucked in a deep breath and looked at him intently. With a quick nod John moved forward past Sherlock and merged back with his body. There was a moment of intense silence before John sat up in the bed. The detective felt the pressure he was applying to the doctor's hand be returned and a warm but pained expression spread across the man's face. After finding his breath once again he lunged forward so he could wrap John in a warm embrace.

"Are you ok?"

Sherlock asked shakily as he ran his hands over all of John's injuries, categorizing them and making mental notes of healing rates.

"I'm fine Sherlock, really. They're all superficial injuries for the most part."

"You're bleeding though. I should get you some plasters…"

Sherlock moved to get up but John's arm shot up to his shoulder to hold him down.

"No. Just…just stay here ok? Just stay with me."

There was a level of panic in his voice that caused the detective's breath to hitch. He sat back down without any protest, he knew what the smaller man was feeling, he felt it himself. He didn't want to leave his side again; he'd just been worried about the bleeding.

"Ok, John, it's alright. I won't leave."

For a moment all they did was just look at each other, and Sherlock could see the pain behind John's eyes. He wanted to make it all go away, it wasn't right for someone he loved so much to be so hurt. He needed to let John know this wasn't his fault. In one smooth motion he pulled the doctor in for another hug, they clung onto one another for a long time after that. They didn't speak at all, just focused on the sounds of the other's breathing. It was peaceful in way, to know that they were together again, that they'd made it out in one piece, that the last almost two months could finally be buried in the past. The detective burrowed his nose into the doctor's neck and inhaled deeply. He'd missed this, having John so close. There were times while John was gone that he'd thought this would never happen again, which only made him grip tighter. Finally John shifted and pulled himself away to look Sherlock in the eye; John liked eye contact when they were discussing something serious.

"Sherlock…I was wrong. _I was so wrong_. I let my emotions get the better of me, I didn't think-no, I didn't care about the consequences. I should have made sure or at least just stayed away from Jim. I mean…I was stupid there is no reason for you to forgive me. I'll understand…if you…if you want me to move out."

Sherlock froze in place. It was true that he hadn't agreed with all of John's choices, but he had understood them. He didn't blame him for what had happened; John shouldn't either. Without any further delay he brought his hands up to cradle the doctor's head.

"You're not to move out, not now, not ever. Do you understand? I don't care what you did John, I never will. We belong together, nothing will change that…honestly I just wanted to know it you weren't hurt. We can talk about the rest later, right now; I just need to know you're ok."

John shut his eyes tightly and leaned into Sherlock's touch. When his eyes opened again they were wet and still pained, but there was something else there as well…there was love. The detective smiled warmly back at his newly returned doctor and brought one hand up to comb his fingers through the smaller man's hair.

"Sherlock…I'm so sorry, I loved-I love you so much and I thought…I didn't know what to do, I couldn't think…"

Sherlock moved the hand still resting on John's cheek to cover his lips with two long fingers.

"Shhh, its all fine John, its all fine."

He removed his fingers to replace them with his lips. The kiss was soft and slow but there was an edge of desperation hidden just beneath the surface. Their lips moved together in perfect harmony, as if they'd never been apart. John brought his hands up to place one at the nape of the detective's neck and the other on his lower back. Sherlock moved to bring his to the hem of John's shirt so that he could leisurely work his fingers across the tanned skin of the smaller man's back. John let out a soft moan and flicked his tongue along Sherlock's lips as an invitation. The taller man acted accordingly, deepening this kiss as he tentatively let his tongue slide between John's thin lips. Their tongues mingled together gently, coaxing each other into a more relaxed state. He eased John back onto the pillow and followed promptly after him. He made quick work of doing away with John's shirt as with his own. It was as if he had been on fire all this time and he was just burning all over; he needed John's skin, his lips, his tongue to smother the flames. With growing determination the two men began to let the kiss envelope them into something far sweeter than they'd grown accustomed to in the past month.

Sherlock lifted his head to catch his breath and once again caught a glimpse of the soldier's deep blue eyes. His breath hitched as he took in just how blown the pupils had become and how John looked at him as no one else ever had, as if he were the only one who ever mattered and the only one who ever would. He lowered himself once more to capture the man's mouth with an earnest he desperately hoped displayed just how much he too cared for John with all of his heart. The detective began to trace his hand down John's broad chest, circling a nipple twice, dipping in the navel briefly, and then letting his fingers intertwine with the trail of hair leading beneath his belt buckle. It didn't take him long to pull John free from his trousers and his pants simultaneously. The doctor slid his own hands down the taller man's back to cup his arse and slowly did away with the foul fabric keeping them apart.

"God, I missed you."

Sherlock whispered into John's ear before taking the lobe into his mouth and sucking delicately. John moaned quietly tilting towards the contact. They were both properly erect now and rubbing against each other in a painfully perfect way.

"Turn over."

John groaned and he pressed his fully engorged cock into Sherlock's causing the detective to moan unabashedly. Sherlock obliged willingly as John maneuvered the two of them so that he was atop the taller man and straddling him at the hips. With a few rhythmic thrusts of their hips the two of them were whimpering for more. Sherlock took hold of John's hand and brought it to his lips so that he could wrap his hot mouth around two of his calloused fingers. They were rough to the touch and were covered in a taste that was undeniably John. He sucked slowly on the two digits which made the doctor gasp at the erotic look and feel of it. Sherlock hummed sending vibrations through his fingers and seemingly straight to his cock as it twitched with anticipation. John slipped off of the detective's hips and reached for a pillow to the right of the bed. After placing the pillow beneath Sherlock so that his lower end was elevated off the bed he lowered himself so that his mouth was directly in front of the taller man's cock. The doctor's breath was hot and made Sherlock's cock ache for contact. John smoothly took hold of Sherlock's hip in one hand and smoothly inserted one finger into his entrance. Sherlock bucked forward at the intrusion and panted heavily from the new sensation taking hold of him. John pushed, curled, and twisted his finger inside of the now writhing detective before adding the second one. Sherlock was thrashing in the sheets and calling out John's name with breathless moans. John's finger scissored expertly within the taller man, opening him up and preparing him for the doctor's leaking cock. John took his hand off of Sherlock's hip and rubbed it down the length of his own cock spreading the precum over the head. He took the additional moisture and replaced the other hand so he could apply it to Sherlock's now loose arse hole.

"_Sherlock_."

It was a question, he was asking for permission to trade his fingers for his cock.

"Oh god, _yes_, John, yes, do it!"

With that John removed his fingers and lined up his hips with Sherlock's. The detective spread his legs wide to allow the smaller man access, which was readily accepted. The doctor pressed the tip of his cock to Sherlock's hole and made circular motions along the outside before slowly pushing forward. Once he was buried down to the hilt inside of Sherlock they both let out loud gasps. Sherlock could feel John's length filling him up and practically splitting him open. For a moment he almost thought he'd cum right there it was so intense. After they both got their bearings John started to rock back and forth creating a perfect amount of friction. With each thrust deeper Sherlock could feel John's cock pressing against his prostate.

"John, oh John; oh! More, _oh god_, please, right _there_!"

John began to pump with more vigor and moaning loudly. His thrusts began to speed up and Sherlock could feel himself being brought closer to the edge.

"Sherlock, oh_ Jesus_, I'm-I-_oh_-I'm _so close_!"

And he was, Sherlock could see the flush spread across John's skin which was glistening with sweat. His eyes were practically screwed shut as he continued to thrust in and out of the detective. It felt so good that he couldn't help but push back against the smaller man's cock almost forcefully as he desperately sought release. John was thick and hot inside him and was now twitching against the walls of Sherlock's insides as he drew closer to reaching climax. The taller man wrapped his legs around the smaller one as he prepared himself for his inevitable orgasm. As if on cue John took hold of Sherlock's cock and began stroking it with verve as his own thrusts became sporadic. The detective jerked his hips into the pressure and it wasn't long before he was seeing nothing but white flashing lights and heard nothing but his and John's cries of lust and sedation.

John pulled out of Sherlock and collapsed next to him on the bed. Instantly the two wrapped around each other, Sherlock bringing a protective arm around John and leading his head to rest on his thin chest. John let out a sigh of contentment and placed a few soft kisses to the taller man's chest and snuggled closer. There was still a lot they needed to talk about, but in that moment, none of it mattered. In that moment everything was perfect, because they were together again.


	14. Chapter 14

**The Trick Revealed **

**Chp 14**

If Lestrade wasn't happy before, he was furious now. Not just because he disapproved of John's choices though. Though, it was true, he was more than a little pissed to hear he'd been hauled up with a terrorist group this whole time. There was certainly a feeling of betrayal, he considered John a friend after all. However, if all that wasn't bad enough, the doctor and his detective had decided to have a shag in his son's bed. _Fantastic_. He was sitting in his living room on what he normally considered one of the most luxurious recliners in the world, but right now he might as well be sitting on glass he felt so uncomfortable. Sherlock and John were sitting opposite him on the sofa and Mycroft was standing at the far edge of the room. The politician was only half invested in the present conversation it appeared as he kept edging himself closer to the door, obviously he had other matters to attend to. If he weren't so worried about the Inspector arresting John he'd probably have bolted an hour ago. John looked more than a little guilty and anxious himself, however Sherlock looked smug enough for the both of them. Evidently he didn't have any qualms with ruining the sanctity of his son's bed.

"Honestly Inspector how much longer do you plan to keep us here? You've certainly stared at us long enough wouldn't you say?"

Sherlock quipped shifting slightly so that he could look Greg directly in the eyes.

"Sherlock."

John whispered harshly in warning, a warning that the detective looked as though he had every intention of ignoring.

"Its fine John, I'd expect no less. Just wish you could have waited until you got home to _bugger_ each other."

Sherlock stiffened slightly and raised his chin so that he was looking down at Lestrade.

"It was a matter of life and death, surely you understand? As you had yourself a quick shag in his room with your wife only two days ago, or no, my mistake, that was the P.E. teacher's cologne wasn't it? Well at least we had the decency to change the sheets."

John went pale as a ghost, as Lestrade was sure he had done himself. Was_ everyone_ shagging in his son's room now? _Jesus_, at least the kid had gone away for school, he'd probably have to have the place sterilized before he came back though. He'd have to admit the comment did more than cause him to go pale; he was now fuming mad at the detective. Normally he took his comments with a truck load of salt, but not when he was already pissed. He honestly didn't know how John put up with the man as much as he did, Greg could really only manage for a few hours at a time. He was fond of him, but there were only so many insults a person could hear before he started to take personal offense.

"_Listen,_ you're lucky I'm not having your _boyfriend _here arrested so maybe you could just hold back on the snippy remarks for an hour or so."

Mycroft straightened considerably and seemed to pull himself back towards the conversation as Sherlock's form went rigid and he wrapped a protective arm around the man in question.

"Detective inspector, please, let's not play games here. We both know if you had plans to arrest the good doctor you would have done so upon arrival. Besides, I'm sure you're well aware that even if John hadn't accepted Moriarty's offer someone else would have and we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. My brother and I would have been murdered and the country as we know it would be in shambles."

"That's not the point."

Lestrade growled back at the politician. He never liked the way the Holmes brothers could twist things so you were left with the distorted image they wanted you to see.

"Then what is."

Sherlock bite out curling the doctor closer to his wire thin frame. John looked unimaginably small being encompassed by the detective's spindly limbs and the look of unmistakable guilt and self loathing planted firmly on his face. Greg let out a sigh, he didn't want to cause his friend any misery, it was just that he was hurting too.

"John…"

He waited a moment for John to look up at him, meet his gaze. Which he knew he would, and he would hold it as well, he knew John to be a man of bravery and honor; he would listen to what Greg had to say. Sherlock on the other hand looked as though he were preparing to attack him at a moments notice.

"I'm…well I'm just a bit miffed is all. No…that's putting it lightly, I'm bloody pissed at you. Not only did you betray your country, you betrayed your friends. Why didn't you come to me if you thought Sherlock had put you out? Why didn't you think to contact anyone? You didn't even ring your own sister to let her know you were alive for Christ's sake! A broken heart is a piss poor excuse for aiding in a terrorist plot to take down the whole bloody country! Don't think that I'm belittling your emotions; I'm just trying to put things in perspective for you. We're talking mass destruction, hundreds of _lives_, just because you thought your boyfriend had kicked you out? I wish I could say I simply hated you now, that I was planning on arresting you despite what Mycroft had to say about it, but I don't. You're still someone I consider a friend, and I honestly would hate to see you in lock up…but I'm hurt John, I'm hurt you doubted all of us so greatly that you didn't even bother to pick up a phone. You just left, you dropped everything, everything we had all gone through together…and you chased after the first person who offered an easy way out. You were trying to escape, and that's not the John I became friends with, that's not the John Sherlock fell in love with. You're better than that. So, I don't want you to think that this is it for us, I still plan on being your mate…I'm just…that was a bit not good, yeah?"

Greg had never been one for expressing himself, and he wasn't sure if he had butchered his speech or not but he didn't plan on making a second attempt. One over emotional display was enough for the night. Mycroft seemed a bit surprised but looked pleased over all, he left without any further comment. _Off to fix the government_, the inspector thought bitterly. Sherlock stood and motioned as though he were about to scream his lungs out at Lestrade, but John placed his hand on the detective's arm to hold him back. As he stood himself Sherlock observed him with a sense of nervous curiosity. The doctor walked over to Greg and held out his hand, which the older man took as an invitation to shake it and therefore proceeded to do so.

"Thank you Greg. You're a true friend and I grossly underestimated you. I promise to never do so again. If you ever need anything I'm here for you, and I hope that with time you can forgive me. You're right…about everything. That was no excuse, I wasn't thinking. I was so consumed with my own feelings I didn't even consider anybody else. It won't happen again."

The inspector nodded in acknowledgment. He looked forward to getting past this, to them being good mates again, possibly even better ones, but it was going to take a bit of time. Sherlock gave a short nod towards Greg before leading the doctor out of the room and from the sounds of it, out of the house. The older man leaned back in his recliner, exhausted from an emotionally and physically draining day. They had a lot of work ahead of them, but for now, he was just going to relax for the first time in almost two months. John was back, and the government would soon be back under control, and with any luck Sherlock had been telling the truth about changing those sheets. So he closed his eyes and simply slept in the most comfortable spot in the world, and for the first time in a long time, his dreams were free of consulting criminals and tortured doctors.

**I'm thinking the next chapter will be the epilogue…I kind of feel like the story is sort of wrapped up here, although I'd like Sherlock to confront John on the whole "escape plan" diversionary tactic, also it's a good excuse for more porn.**


	15. Chapter 15

**The Trick Revealed **

**Epilogue**

**Sorry this took so long!**

John was surprised (although perhaps he shouldn't have been) with how quickly he assimilated back into life at Baker street. It was almost as though nothing had changed…almost. He could draw clear differences in his mind, particularly in how Sherlock acted. The detective had never been a nervous man, and John had never known him to act with an overdeveloped sense of caution. However there wasn't much time that the doctor found himself alone or, when in the presence of the taller man, not hearing a constant stream of unconventional concerns. Unconventional in the sense that as far as John was concerned they were completely unfounded and held know merit to any sane person. He would warn the older man of well polished floors or splintering wood that may or may not be carrying infectious and deadly molds. It would be sweet if it weren't so bloody annoying. He was a grown man after all, and a soldier to boot, he didn't need someone hovering over him at all hours of the day…and night for that matter. John didn't mind sharing a bed with someone in a general sense, but there was something very different about Sherlock's newly adapted method. They had slept in the same bed before, John remembered very well, they had cuddled and fondled late into the night, but there had always been sleep. In the beginning Sherlock would stay up until he'd finally admit defeat to his body and climb the stairs to join John in the throws of slumber. Neither situation rang true now, now there was only watching. It was unsettling to say the least. John would lay in bed, tuck the covers around himself and burrow his head into the pillow. Sherlock on the other hand would enter the room at the same time only to find a perch at the end of the bed and simply stare at the doctor. He had taken to bringing books with him when John voiced his complaints, but he could still feel those piercing grey/blue eyes studying his every move. He just wanted it to stop; he just wanted things to go back to normal. Everyone else seemed to be slowly adjusting and accepting everything that had happened, but not Sherlock, it was as if he were frozen in time. Which only made things harder for John. Every time he looked at the taller man, saw the concern and faint tendrils of fear lingering in his gaze, it sent a pang of guilt through the soldier's heart. He didn't want to be continuously reminded of the pain he had caused, the panic and the fear…it was something he really just wanted buried in the past.

It was because of these ongoing tendencies and unspoken emotions that led to this night in question. John had once again attempted to construct some sort of force field between himself and the detective's laser like eyes with the use of blankets. Sherlock seemed unphased by this and merely continued to stare. The doctor was at his wits end though and was beginning to loose patience. Each time the taller man turned a page a small shiver of rage and annoyance went down John's spine. Why couldn't he just say something? Why couldn't he just come out with it? He had made it perfectly clear already, John wasn't that stupid. It hurt him, sure, but he understood it. There was logic in it, which was probably what fueled Sherlock's insistence to carry on with his new attentions to the doctor, but it was annoying all the same. If the man had a problem then he should say something and stop dragging this out. John shifted underneath the covers and felt Sherlock practically jump as if he were going to pounce on top of the doctor, it were as though he felt he needed to pin the man down just so he could know where he was at all times. John had had enough.

"Sherlock. Stop it."

He growled out from underneath the blankets. It was silent for a moment before the detective shut the book and scooted closer to the covered man.

"Stop what John? What have I done to displease you? I am simply reading; am I not permitted to read in your room anymore?"

He was doing his best to sound detached, but the doctor knew too well how to pick up on Sherlock's masked emotions. The man was worried; he thought John would want him to leave…not that he'd ever just _say_ that.

"Of course you are allowed to read in here. I'm not saying other wise. But it's been weeks since I've been home…you don't need to keep watch over me all the time."

Sherlock seemed to relax a bit at the knowledge that John did not in fact want him to leave, however there was a huff of annoyance at the last part.

"I'm simply trying to be…_affectionate_, just as you have been with your _girlfriends_ in the past."

His tone remained calm and explanatory with the exception of the word 'girlfriends' which came out in more of a snarl. John couldn't help but smirk at that, yes, Sherlock was certainly the jealous type. With a quick shake of his head he put his thoughts back into focus; they had to deal with this.

"It's gone far past the line between being affectionate and being a stalker. You even followed me into the bathroom the other day for Christ's sake!"

John hollered, although his voice was being muffled by the surrounding blankets and took the sharp edges out of his tone, which apparently made the statement rather funny as Sherlock let out a light chuckle. The detective moved himself further up the bed towards John, on his hands and knees judging by the way the mattress dipped, or at least that's how it felt to the doctor. He swallowed heavily as the image threatened to take over his mind and derail any attempts of fixing what was going on with Sherlock.

"I'll give you that one, but can you blame me? You look just_ brilliant_ in the shower, I couldn't help myself, I had to take a peek."

The taller man ran his elegant fingers up the back of John's leg and continued up the length of his spine until he was resting just behind the soldier, his breath hot on his neck. John shivered at the contact and fought to control himself as an erection seemed inevitable. His arm shot up to stop the hand that was now snaking it's way around his torso and headed south.

"Sherlock, we have to talk about this."

The detective stiffened but remained in place.

"Fine. What is there you think needs to be discussed? My proximity? I'm sorry that my over protective nature is bothersome to you but it's not something I have much control over."

"That's a lie. You were over protective before."

For a moment they lapsed into silence and John thought that perhaps Sherlock had simply decided to stop talking all together (not completely unheard of) except he soon began speaking again.

"You're implying that I've changed in the time we've been away. You think that it's changed us…you don't like it."

John decided that if he was going to do this right he'd have to venture out from underneath the covers, despite how warm they were. He poked his head out and turned to face the detective.

"No, I _know_ we've changed Sherlock, not as a whole, but parts of us. That's not so bad though, people change all the time. No, what concerns me is not that we've changed as people but that our perspectives have changed, how we see each other has changed."

If Sherlock was tense before he was absolutely rigid now, he was obviously uncomfortable with the things the doctor had said, but the man continued none the less.

"What I mean to say is, I was so consumed by this self loathing before that I blinded myself to the wonderful people I had in my life. I mean, yeah, there's still some of those feelings of hate towards myself, but it took me fucking up the British government to realize just how much the people in my life cared about me. I thought just because_ I_ hated me, just because of my past, that I was unlovable. So _that _changed, I get it now. You guys care for me even if I don't. I'd feel relieved if I didn't feel so guilty about how I'd gone about _obtaining_ that information. But it's not just that, it's how _you_ see me now too. I know it must have been hell, being here, not knowing anything, thinking you'd lost not only the game but me as well. So it makes sense, you feeling the way you do about me, now knowing that I was actually fine…well I get it. It hurts, but I get it."

Sherlock edged closer to the doctor and placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

"Get what?"

John shut his eyes briefly and tried to expel all his pained emotions. He didn't want to look weak in the younger man's eyes, but if he needed an explanation John was more than willing to give it.

"That you don't trust me. You keep acting like I'm going to run off the second you take your eyes off of me. I get it, honestly I do. Lestrade was right that day, I betrayed my friends, but worst of all, I betrayed you. And I'm sorry Sherlock, I'm so sorry, and I understand that it will take time to earn your trust back, but please…I promise you I'm not leaving, I will_ never_ leave you…not unless you want me to."

It was dead silent for almost a whole minute before the detective let out a shaky breath that neither man had realized he was holding.

"John…I trust you…I trust you with my life. That isn't it at all, you-you've deduced everything incorrectly. I was worried, I-I I'm afraid…afraid that you'd be taken away again. John…you have no idea how mortified I was when you-when…when you were kidnapped. I love you John, I won't lie…I have questions, and I do feel hurt…but that doesn't mean that I feel any differently about you."

John gave a weak smile and looked down at the blankets in an attempt to hide his watering eyes. It seemed when it came to Sherlock Holmes he would be forever out of his depths.

"You have questions? Well, ask. Better to ask now, get it over with."

Sherlock nodded in agreement and thought it over for an instant.

"There are a few…I…two mainly. How did you get out? When you went back into the house you only had a knife on you…how did you manage that? I mean, when you were taking us out of the study you said you couldn't take on all of the men in there by yourself…did you have someone helping you?"

John sighed deeply and ran his hands through his hair. He wanted to make sure that he said everything right.

"I had to say that…you wouldn't have left if I said otherwise. I just needed to get you guys out; besides, Lestrade and his men came around quick enough. I just needed to incapacitate the majority of the agents, mostly the higher ups. Wasn't that hard really, certainly a bit strenuous I'll admit…but it was doable. I had to stab a few…shoot a few…most of them I was able to take down with hand to hand combat. It was really all a matter of being quiet and fast. I got scraped up pretty good, you saw that, but I did fine as a whole."

Sherlock nodded along and seemed to be processing every word with his overly meticulous manner that he did everything else.

"That's…impressive. But not unexpected….There is one more thing though John, one last thing that's been bothering me…tremendously..."

It was obvious that 'tremendously' was a massive understatement from the way the way the taller man's lips twitched and his eyes shifted restlessly. John held his breath, readying himself for whatever was on the man's mind. He would deal with this, and he would do it now.

"John…just before you came to retrieve us from the study I could hear…what did you do? How did you kill him?"

He had been hoping Sherlock hadn't heard that. God, he'd known it was a stupid idea. He'd just known Sherlock would hear; known that it'd be the final nail in his coffin. He hadn't wanted to do it, every nerve in his body had been screaming at the thought of that man touching him, but it seemed like his only option. He cleared his throat and did his best to look the man in the eye.

"Listen, Sherlock…I'm not a very smart man, and I'm no where near as smart as you or Moriarty. It was a horrible idea, it was a stupid and insensitive idea, but it was all I had. I couldn't go after him without distracting him, without giving him a significant blind spot. I figured if he was busy-um-if he were preoccupied at the time…I could easily sneak up on him without causing alarm and kill him quickly."

Sherlock was perturbed by the declaration that was clear. Though it didn't seem to be directed at John there was a look of seething rage in those grey/blue eyes that the doctor found highly disturbing. He wanted it to go away, he didn't want the detective to be so angry, he didn't want this to ruin everything.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I'm _so_ sorry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it, it didn't mean anything, I'm sorry-"

Sherlock cut the rambling apology short by firmly planting his lips over the repentant man's. John was caught off guard for a moment and found himself frozen stiff staring at the taller man who's lips were working feverishly against his own.

"John…"

He mumbled against the doctor's still stunned lips.

"Y-yes?"

"This works better when both of us do it, in case you've forgotten."

John pulled back so that he could observe the detective more closely.

"Sherlock…aren't you…"

"Mad?"

Sherlock offered as an answer when John trailed off. The doctor nodded his head slowly as if he were afraid to make any sudden movement, that at any second Sherlock would realize just how pissed he was and take a swing.

"Of course I'm mad. I'm mad about a lot of things. I'm mad that I let you get kidnapped, I'm mad I couldn't find you, I'm mad that Moriarty tricked you, I'm mad that you spent that time thinking I hadn't loved you, I'm mad that you let Moriarty touch you, but mostly I'm mad that he thought he had you. John…he thought you were _his_. None of those things change how I feel for you, and none of them make me want to kiss you less. In fact, if you don't mind, I'd really prefer we kiss now."

John simply nodded in acknowledgement and leaned in to connect their lips once again. The kiss was soft at first, tender and gentle, then it started to turn more aggressive. Specifically Sherlock turned more aggressive. He pushed John onto his back and climbed on top of the smaller man placing several kisses to his neck before capturing his lips again. There was a possessive edge to the kiss that was intensifying the longer it continued. John fought to keep up with the increasing pace. Sherlock's tongue was mapping out all the dark corners of John's mouth, finding them and claiming them as his own. It wasn't long before the doctor was moaning from the swirling of their tongues and the growing friction between them. The detective was rubbing and rotating his hips over the older man's while simultaneously seizing his mouth. The heat was building and John knew it wouldn't be long until he was fully hard if they kept up like this.

"She-Sherlock, I'm-"

"I know."

Sherlock growled back grinding their hips together with greater force bringing forth a loud groan from the doctor. Long fingers made their way down John's bare chest and inserted themselves beneath the elastic of his boxers. It wasn't long before buttons were flying and clothing going along with them, Sherlock was in a great rush it seemed to get the two of them naked and John wasn't one to argue. The detective was moaning deeply as he brought their two exposed erections together letting them rub against each other with increasing velocity. John was panting heavily as Sherlock drew his lips away from the older man's mouth and began placing passionate kisses along his jaw, down his neck, and eventually found his way to John's left nipple. The doctor's hips bucked forward as Sherlock swirled his tongue around and nipped the nipple.

"_Oh_, Sherlock!"

John cried out as his hips continued to thrash on their own accord. Sherlock took that as his cue to move on and he kissed his way down John's torso and shortly began sucking and nipping John's hip bones. The doctor was letting out a constant stream of moans and chanting the detective's name. John felt the taller man's hot breath flow across his already aching cock and gasped. Sherlock pressed his face to the cock nuzzled the smaller man's balls with his nose which was quickly replaced by his tongue. John moaned noisily as Sherlock licked and sucked at the sack. The younger man's tongue moved from the balls and to the shaft and he traced each vain and sucked on the glands until finally he placed a languid kiss at the tip of the head. Both their cocks were leaking profusely at this point and John's hands held to the sheets with a vice grip.

"Sherlock, Jesus! _Please_, oh!"

Sherlock raised himself and reached towards the side table retrieving the lubricant at rapid speeds. He slicked two of his fingers with a copious amount of lube before slowly inserting one of his fingers into John's entrance. John took several shaky breaths as he adjusted to the new sensation. It wasn't long before he was moaning again and pushing against the finger allowing Sherlock to affectively finger-fuck him. Sherlock added the second finger and began to scissor the two of them to open John up. John's cock twitched as Sherlock's fingers curled and twisted against his prostate.

"Sherlock, h-_hurry_!"

John panted moving his hand down to stroke his throbbing cock. He needed the friction desperately, he needed the release, he was getting closer by the second and he needed to feel Sherlock inside of him. Quickly the taller man removed his fingers and gathered another large amount of lube in his hand but this time spread it along the length of his cock.

"_God_, you look so _perfect_, I love to watch you touch yourself. I-_oh_-I used to think about it before the explosion; I used to get hard just _seeing _you after you'd leave your room or the shower and _knowing_ what you'd been doing."

"Sherlock, _oh god_, I need you _now_!"

Sherlock let out a low grumbling moan as he lunged forward pulling John into his lap. The detective swung John's legs up so the backs of his knees rested on his bony shoulders and then pressed his cock against John's hole and pushed in with a jerky thrust. Both men gasped at the contact and began to roll their hips against each other. Sherlock pushed farther inside of John until he was completely inside of him. John could feel Sherlock's cock filling him up and pressing against the walls of his insides, he could feel himself stretching and constricting around the large hot member and let out a loud moan. Sherlock moaned as well and thrust again. John's moaned and whimpered and cried out louder and louder as he came closer to the edge. With each thrust he could feel the heat building and his stomach clenching. He loved the way Sherlock's cock seemed to caress his prostate and reduce him to a pile of boneless desperation, better was that with each thrust he could practically hear the man chanting: _mine mine mine._ There were times when Sherlock's possessive behaviors became a bit of a nuisance, but never in the bedroom.

"_John_! I'm going to-"

Sherlock broke off into a deep moan and began to press forward with faster and shorter thrusts. John moaned along with the detective and pushed himself against the hot cock that was pressing almost violently into his prostate. John could feel spindly fingers clambering around his thick cock and stroking him. The combination of being thrust into by Sherlock and having his cock rubbed was enough to send him spiraling off the edge. He was pushing onto Sherlock's cock and simultaneously thrusting himself into Sherlock's hand and it wasn't long before his body was trembling violently. He needed release and he was so close his fingers had practically ripped holes in the sheets. Then with one final jerking thrust Sherlock came inside of the doctor, and John could feel the hot sticky liquid filling him up and that was it. John followed right behind him into orgasmic bliss. His cum spurted out and covered his chest as well as Sherlock's hand. The two of them collapsed into the bed panting heavily. The taller man pulled John to his chest and curled his fingers in the short hair on top of the smaller man's head. John felt sated, but not fully satisfied, there was just one last thing he needed to do.

"Sherlock?"

The detective dipped his head so that as he spoke his lips brushed across the crown of John's head.

"Yes John?"

"You know, I was never his right? Even when I thought you didn't want anything to do with me…I was always yours. I always will be."

Sherlock's grip on him tightened and his arms pulled John closer so that the smaller man was affectively pinned against the taller's taunt chest.

"And I yours, John. Always."

With that the two of them lay there for a long time, just wrapped in each other's warm embrace. Before John fell asleep the last thing he could recall was feeling Sherlock's lips moving across his forehead, he could feel and just barely hear the words '_mine_' and '_always_' being mumbled. A normal man might have found it odd or even creepy, but John was far from normal, he could project things with his mind…normal went out the window a long time ago. John felt nothing but comfort and love, two things that just a few months ago he would have told you he would never feel. Finally John slipped into slumber and for the first time, to what would be hundreds of times after that, slept knowing that he and Sherlock loved each other and that they always would.

**The end! Sorry if it was a bit corny and yeah, took way too long to put up. If you have me on author alerts (thanks by the way!) I probably won't be writing anything else for a little bit but you never know, could be tomorrow knowing me. Thanks for all the lovely comments along the way!**


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